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familyvideostevie · 1 year ago

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a kind of hunger | chapter 1

joel miller x fem!reader

series masterlist

joel miller walks into your life just as it starts to fall apart. surely some hot nights with the bar's newest regular can't hurt, right?

length: 9.2k

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, fem!reader, unspecified age gap, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), doggy style, missionary, slightly painful sex, dirty talk, size kink if you squint, joel is a liiiiiiiitle mean if you squint, general feelings of loneliness and angst from r in her free time

a/n: huge thank you to @strangerfreaks without whom this would never have gotten off the ground. also to all the joel writers on this site, i love you, i am in awe of you. please allow me to give it a go myself <3

navigation | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

The first time you sleep with Joel Miller you know it won't be the last.

But that's not where this story starts.

It starts in a bar. Nothing special about it, really. Staffed half by college kids who come and go, half by drifters who, for some reason, stopped drifting once they found this dimly lit, sticky-floored hole in the wall. Not quite a local institution but not forgettable, never totally empty. It's got pool tables and a jukebox but also clean bathrooms aside from the graffiti and two new-ish TVs showing whatever the first guy who gets there wants to watch.

Point is, you work there. One of those drifters who stopped drifting. The guy who owns it, some crotchety old fuck called Bill, rents you the apartment above the bar for a decent price considering it's loud until 2am on the weekends and midnight all the other days. Loud enough that even on nights you don't work it feels like you're there anyway. But you get used to it. It's called Frank's, which you don't totally understand, but you're not about to ask questions of the guy who has finally allowed you to slow down and take a breath who is also your boss and landlord.

You've worked there long enough to have learned the names and orders of all the regulars who've been coming in since long before you walked through the door and to have seen some new regulars enter the rotation. In truth, you've worked there long enough to basically be running the place. It's still the bar in your head, not your bar because getting attached will do you no good. This is how it always goes: you care too much but it never seems like anyone cares back. You cut and run before you can be disappointed and you’ve already been here longer than you’d expected to be because it’s something close to comfortable.

Almost no one messes with you despite being younger than most of the clientele and on the off chance some frat boy from the city decides to take a cheap shot you've got a small army of imposing customers on your side. Between them and your coworkers, it's almost like you're not alone.

Almost.

The hours you spend away from the bar are spent alone. You don't have many numbers in your phone and the ones you do you don't call. You go on drives in the shitty truck you bought off some guy when you moved here. You browse used bookstores and suffer the heat of the day on long walks and wonder if this is all there is. You think of what it might be like to feel something other than rootless.

One thing that helps is…sex. Being close to someone for even a little while, letting yourself be seen in a way that doesn’t require you to totally show your hand. You try not to make a habit of actually fucking your clientele. It can get messy quickly, guys coming in and expecting more than a good pour. Being offended when you don't give them a free round, don't make eyes at them over the oiled wood. It's easier to be alone, that much you've learned. It's easier and it's simpler and it means you've only got yourself to blame for the hurt you sometimes feel laying in bed, staring at the ceiling as some rock song thrums up through the floor.

And if you do fuck someone from the bar, you keep it simple. You do, however, try really hard not to sleep with regulars. And no staying over. A classic, unspoken rule of sleeping with strangers that you rarely verbalize but make sure to enforce every time. It keeps things neat. The last thing you need is mess. Who knows how long you'll stay in this town, in this little apartment and this shitty bar. You've got a lot of years left, a lot of years you should probably spend in classrooms or an office or falling in love with some nice guy with a nice family who can give you a nice life.

But you're here.

And then, one day, so is Joel.

Being a good bartender is memorization, paying attention, and keeping a level head. You know how to make pretty much any drink even though your regulars are mostly the simple beer or Jack and Coke kind of people. You swear you can tell when a glass is going to fall a second before it shatters, spot a punch before it can be thrown. So you notice when a man you've never seen before walks through the door.

You notice how the energy of the room changes, how multiple pairs of eyes follow him as he settles at the end of the half-full bar. Dark hair shot through with grey, green shirt rolled up over chorded forearms that he rests on the wood. It feels like you should know him but you don't. You've never seen him before.

You finish pouring beers for some giggly girls before making your way over to him. His eyes track you.

You wonder what he'll order. A shot, maybe, based on the tense line of his shoulders. Or a dark beer. Maybe something strong. You hope he won't be one of those guys you have to peel off the bar in a few hours. "Can I get you something?"

"Whiskey, rocks," he says. You can hear the Texas drawl even from so few words. Deep, low, measured. "Cheapest you got."

For some reason, it feels like he's returning and you're the new one. "Wanna start a tab?"

"I'll do cash at the end," he says. Ah, one of those. Guy getting away from his wife, maybe. Tough day at work. Doesn't want to leave tracks. You can relate to that.

"Joel fuckin’ Miller," one of your regulars says as you turn to grab a glass. He claps the man -- Joel -- on the shoulder. "Heard you were back up this way," he says. "Good to see you, man."

Joel simply inclines his head once like he's not thrilled to be recognized. The dismissal is clear. And, weirdest of all, it works. You've seen insults hurled between friends for less.

You set his drink down, the amber liquid sloshing around the ice.

"Thanks," he mutters. The dismissal is...less clear, but you've got other customers to tend to. And Joel doesn't seem particularly chatty.

Your eyes return to him for the next hour or so but he never waves you over for another round. Heat trails up and down your spine and you have to tell yourself that he's not watching you. That would be too optimistic, right? At one point you take a bathroom break and when you're back he's gone, wrinkled bills stacked under the glass. Enough for his drink and a decent tip.

Joel comes in three more times over the next month before you sleep with him. Each time he orders the same drink, leaves the same tip. He sits alone at the bar, occasionally saying hello when someone approaches but no one ever sits next to him. He's gruff but only ever polite to you, doesn't get impatient when it takes you a minute to get to him.

And he's really something to look at. The tick in his jaw, the veins in his neck. His skin is tanned, dotted with small scars that must come from a lifetime of hard work. He wears a watch and jeans that hug his ass in an almost indecent way, a way that has you watching him when he's not on a stool. Sometimes you catch him smirking to himself when there's some shit going on at the bar, gossip or people being loud for no reason. You wonder what his laugh sounds like and scold yourself for it. No harm in looking but there's the possibility of harm in thinking too much. You know better.

The third time he comes in is a bad night. It's busy for some reason and everyone is a fucking asshole. You weren't even supposed to work tonight but one of the seasonal kids had banged on your door begging you to come help, promising you all the tips for tonight if you did. You knew it would make you look good to Bill and despite yourself, you didn’t want to leave them hanging, so here you are, sweaty and pissed and smelling like beer, doing your best to empty the dishwasher in between drink orders and praying the keg doesn't need changing.

You don't even notice when Joel comes in, only spotting him once he's managed to scare some college kid from a seat at the bar. For some reason, his presence makes you a little calmer in the chaos.

"Be with you in a sec, Joel," you say to him when you're near. You don't call him by his name since he never actually introduced himself to you but it slips out in the rush. His nostrils flare but you don't have time to linger on it even as you feel the hot weight of his gaze.

"No rush."

You manage to get him what you know by now to be his usual only to be called over by your least favorite customer of the night as soon as he's thanked you.

"Honey," the asshole says. This fucker's name is Seth and he's a pain in your ass. "Gimme another, will you? Make it a heavy pour." This would be his fifth and he's already slurring his words.

"Don't think so," you tell him firmly. "I'm cutting you off for tonight, Seth." He's liable to start some shit or at the very least throw up on the floor and you don't want to deal with either. You don't have time to deal with either.

His bloodshot eyes narrow and he slams a fist on the bar. You manage not to flinch, though pretty much everyone else does. "That's not good fucking service, sweetcheeks," he leers.

"Good thing I don't give a fuck," you snap. "Get the fuck out of here before you do something you regret, sweetcheeks.” The venom in your tone seems to surprise him before sheer rage takes over. You've thrown out plenty of assholes in your time here but it's not always a smooth experience.

Seth leans forward over the bar, reaches for you -- to do what, you have no idea -- and you prepare yourself to yell for backup and then kick him out for good and maybe get a punch in as he goes. His fingers manage to hook in your shirtsleeve before a hand closes around his wrist.

Before Seth can scream he's got his outstretched arm behind his back, face twisted in pain. Behind him is --

Joel?

The bar is almost silent. You can hear a few whispers over the blood pumping in your ears.

"I'd get out of here if I were you," Joel hisses. He glances at you, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. Are you okay? he seems to be asking. You nod.

Seth whimpers. "Let me go," he says weakly.

"Just gonna show you the door." Joel all but drags him through the parting crowd.

"Jesus," someone says behind you. One of the seasonal kids. "You okay?"

"I'm taking my break." You leave the kid behind the bar to fend for himself and barrel into the back and through the side door into the alley where you always take your 15. It's one of those weird cold fall nights, just the wrong side of chilly to be here without a jacket but you left it in the bar office.

The milk carton you sit on has been turned over so you kick it back with a thud and slump down onto it. The light above the door flickers. "This shit is getting old," you say to no one. You kick aside cigarette butts that aren't yours and wonder how long you can do this. What would be next, anyway? You've got a laundry list of failed dreams and no one wondering if you're going to make something of yourself. Long nights at a bar you care about more than you should and rowdy customers and handsome men who barely say a word to you can't last forever, can it? Would anyone here even notice if you left?

The door flies open, startling you out of your thoughts.

Joel steps into the alley. Somehow he manages to yet again look like he was meant to be here and you're the one who is out of place. You blink at him and he stares back like he wasn't sure he'd find you here.

"Got lost?" you ask. "Pretty sure you know where the front door is."

He lets the metal door swing shut and crosses his arms. "Was lookin' for you."

That catches you by surprise. "Why?"

Joel shrugs, a small lift of his shoulders. His expression doesn't budge. "Sorry for makin' trouble."

Oh, right. Seth. You wave him off. "Just another night," you say. "I'd have handled it." You stand from the crate and lean against the brick wall. It's true. Seth isn't the first asshole you've handled.

"I bet you would've," Joel mutters. He takes one step closer. You're reminded all at once how good-looking he is, how you've wondered what his hands would feel like on your skin. There's no way he's ever thought of you, right? You're just some girl who pours him drinks, too young and too forgettable. He was just having a man moment, wanting to save the day or some shit like that.

"I don't have a cigarette or anything if you want to smoke," you say. This close he doesn't smell like tobacco but you don't know what else to say. "Sorry."

"So you just sit in alleys on your break for fun?"

"I like this alley," you say, suddenly a bit defensive. "It's a nice alley." You take a step towards him. He uncrosses his arms and his hands flex at his sides. You shiver. "No one bothers me out here."

Joel tilts his head to the side. "That so?" His eyes are dark under the dim light. When did he get so close? When did your face get so hot?

"Except guys who drink whiskey on the rocks, I guess," you say. It comes out much softer than you'd like, your voice cracking. The air doesn't have the same bite as it did seconds ago. Joel's expression hovers between something you recognize and something you don't, something you desperately want to figure out. "Good thing I don't mind." The adrenaline from the small altercation hasn't left and the swirl of emotions about your whole shitty life has you on edge, has you wanting to play with fire.

You're so close now that you can feel his breath on your face, feel the heat of him in the still night. Joel's eyes rake over your face, looking for something, something you try very hard to show him so that he might fucking do it, meet the want that is suddenly uncontrollable halfway, or at least tell you if he's not interested so you can --

Your name is a groan in his throat and then he's kissing you. His palm cups the back of your head as he presses you into the wall, his other hand firm on your hip, fingertips pressing into your skin through your shirt hard enough to bruise. He tastes like the whiskey you served him. You fist one hand in his collar and wind the other into his hair.

Joel controls the kiss but you give as good as you get. He licks into your mouth and you suck on his lower lip. His beard rubs against your face in a delicious burn and when you tug on his hair he makes a noise you must hear again. The brick behind you scrapes a bit but you hardly notice when he presses against you, slides a thigh between your legs and you feel him hard through his jeans.

"S'not right, you lookin' so good yellin' at that asshole," he grumbles into your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse. You cant your hips and he hisses.

"Speak for yourself," you manage. "Always got your eyes on me, don't you?" It feels like a risk to call him on it. Control of the situation is slipping from your grasp, this man who you never thought would actually touch you now holding you in his arms, his lips on your skin. He pulls back from your neck and smirks, eyes dark.

"'Spose I do."

You can work with that. You surge forward to kiss him again and this time he lets you call the shots while still meeting your bruising caresses with his own.

"Joel." You tug on his hair.

He makes that noise again.

It might be five minutes, it might be an hour. You have no idea. All you know is you can still feel his cock through the denim and you're so turned on you might combust in this alley. Or at the very least let him fuck you in it.

"I don't close tonight," you pant. One of Joel's hands has worked its way into your back pocket and the other has rucked up your shirt to rest on your bare back.

"What?" he growls.

"My shift. I'm off at 11." You tap his watch. He glances at it and sees it read 10:30. "Half hour. I live upstairs."

For a second you think he'll say no. Walk away with a nod of his head and out of your life forever. Wouldn't be the first, wouldn't be the last. You're already breaking one of your rules by even considering sleeping with him but there's just something about him. The way he looks at you, the way his hands feel on your skin. You want to know what he'll feel like inside you. Maybe you’re still in this town because you were waiting for him to walk through the door.

"Alright," he says. He clears his throat and releases you. You fuss with your hair and straighten your shirt and he adjusts himself in his jeans. "Half hour." His dark eyes narrow as he glances down the alley back towards the street.

"Take a walk around the block or something," you tell him, swallowing the urge to laugh at him so handsome and disheveled from your hands. Never in a million years would you have predicted that tonight would go this way. "My door is on the other side of the building. I'll let you up."

The urge to flatten the damage your hands did to his hair is so overwhelming for a second that you step away from him towards the door. His eyes follow you, expression unreadable. How many nights would it take for you to know what he's thinking? Careful, you think, or you'll be tempted to find out.

Joel watches you until you give him a little wave and slip back into the bar. The metal door clangs shut behind you and you lean against it, knees still wobbly. Is this actually happening? Are you really this overwhelmed by making out with some guy in an alley? You check the clock on the wall and curse. Your break ended ten minutes ago though since no one came looking for you it's probably no big deal. Being mostly in charge has its perks.

The bar is a little less crowded than when you left so you grab a rag and start wiping down the bar. Joel's seat is empty, his glass gone.

"Oh, hey," the seasonal kid says. "That guy, uh, Joel? He said to make sure you get this." He pulls out Joel's usual tip from his apron and holds it out to you.

Considering you're planning to go upstairs and fuck him until you can't walk, you don't feel like taking his tip tonight. "It's yours," you say. "Thanks for handling everything while I was out back." The kid blinks at you but knows better than to refuse, pocketing the cash and going back to loading the dishwasher.

You finish your shift. Your blood feels electric, your skin hot. Can anyone in this bar tell what happened in the alley? You haven't felt this way about a hookup in ages. Like you were wanted, not just convenient. It's just one night, right? Maybe he'll never come to the bar again, which makes your chest tighten for a second. Maybe you're about to ruin something you don't totally understand. But you haven't gotten this far in life by worrying about shit like that, so you clock out and wave goodbye and make your way to the other side of the building.

Joel isn't there. You unlock the door to the stairwell so you can at least wait for him inside when you hear footsteps, the crunch of gravel under boots. You fist your key between your knuckles just in case but before you can turn around you hear your name in that Texas drawl.

"Just me," he says. You don't know if Joel Miller is capable of looking nervous but this is probably close. He shifts from one foot to the other, hands in his pockets. A thrill runs up your spine. Are you really doing this? Are you really about to bring this man up to your apartment and hope to god he does whatever you want to you?

"Come on up." Yes. Yes, you are. You give him a smile and he follows you up to the landing.

"S'loud," he mutters once you shut the door. The bar's music wasn't that loud when you were in it and up here it's a dull hum, people's voices and laughter slipping through the cracks like a TV left on a little too high in the other room. These days it's background noise to you but you figure Joel lives in a house somewhere with lots of land and open windows and silence. He seems like the type to like silence.

Jacket on the hook, shoes clumsily thrown on the mat, keys in the dish. Your normal routine except there’s a man in your living room, too. He looks around the space, hands still in his pockets. You try not to be self-conscious about your place. It's small, sure, the bedroom visible through the currently open French doors in the small living room. Your kitchen is tiny, bathroom tinier, but it's all yours. "You get used to it," you say. "I hardly mind it anymore."

"Didn't say I did," he says. You both stand there for a few moments before Joel takes two big steps and crowds you against the door, one hand on your hip and the other next to your head. "Means they won't hear us." You swallow a gasp as he drags his nose along the curve of your jaw, breath hot on your skin. You were going to ask him if you could shower first since you undoubtedly smell like sweat and beer but clearly, he doesn't mind. His tongue darts out and he sucks on your pulse point, your own hands clutching desperately at his shirt. If he moves you're sure you'll melt into a puddle on the floor. "Means you can be as loud as you want," he growls. "That sound good?"

Any breath remaining in your body rushes out and you jerk your hips to make contact with the hardness in his jeans. "Yeah," you gasp. You can feel something like a smile against your neck. "That sounds good."

It's a dynamic you don't mind stepping into -- whatever this is. Every second of your life you feel like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everyone around you to get tired. Your eyes are always on the exit, always wondering where you'll go next, what you'll leave behind this time. Even when you're fucking strangers you're always wondering how you'll get them to leave. You’re better off alone. But right here, right now, with Joel's heavy scent of sawdust and whiskey and something earthy, something grounding, in your nostrils, his hands and his mouth on you, nothing else matters. Your brain shuts off and you're just here.

You grab Joel's jaw and guide his lips back to yours. He allows it and you moan deep in your throat as he tongues back into your mouth, your own trying to give as good as you're getting. He pops the button on your jeans and you help him with frantic hands, shoving them down your hips along with your underwear so he can ghost his fingers through your coarse curls. He pulls back from the kiss to watch as he drags two fingers through your folds. Your eyes lock and he smirks as your lids flutter.

"Soaked," is all he says. You tip your head forward and rest your forehead on his shoulder.

"Don't be smug."

He huffs. "I ain't trying to sound like an asshole, but --"

"Already failed." He nips at your earlobe.

"Gotta work you open a bit, sweetheart," he says. His fingers circle your clit once, ever so slowly. Your grip on his bicep tightens and you wonder if you'll leave bruises. You hope so. "Gonna be a tight fit."

"Heard -- fuck -- that before," you gasp. Joel really fucking knows what he's doing. "I -- bed?"

"Smart girl," he says. You're pretty sure you get wetter. He pulls his fingers free but keeps a hold on your hip like he knows your knees are jelly. "Sit on the edge."

You leave your jeans and underwear behind and make your way to the bed through the French doors, sitting heavily on the quilt, knees bent and leaning on your hands behind you. Before you can say another word, Joel lowers to his knees between yours. He pries them apart even further and runs his hands up and down your thighs.

For a few seconds, you can't find the words. This man, older than you and impossibly handsome, face lined with years he's lived and hands callused with work he's done, this man that you hardly know anything about but can't get out of your mind, is on his knees before you.

"You gonna be okay down there?" is what you come up with.

"You always talk this much?" he mutters, though his mouth tugs up at the corner. Joel's forearms wrap around your legs and he tugs. You fall flat on your back in surprise and your ass almost hangs off the bed. He draws one of your legs over his shoulder and kneads the flesh of your thigh, eyes dark and jaw twitching as he spreads you open and just looks. "Might have to help me up but I think I'll be just fine."

"Joel --"

The end of his name becomes a high-pitched moan when he leans in and buries his face in your cunt. He drags his tongue up and down through your folds, nose catching your clit in a way that makes you squirm. His beard scrapes against your skin deliciously, leaving a sting that you know you'll be able to see evidence of when he's done. He laps at you before finally taking your clit in his mouth and sucking like his life depends on it. It's only his hand on your outstretched thigh keeping you from suffocating him between your legs, though you're not sure he'd mind.

"Should be a crime," he says. You look down the length of your body at him. His chin is wet with you, eyes meeting yours when he feels your stare. "Cunt this pretty tastin' so good."

How do you reply to that?

He's back at it before you can even try. Joel gets messy with it, the sounds of his attention loud and filthy. He tells you how wet you are, how good you taste, and your eyes flutter shut again.

"How're we doing?"

"Don't stop," you manage. "Just, don't stop--"

He prods your entrance with one finger. "Reckon you can take it, hmm? You're so wet it'll be easy." There's a bite to his tone, a sense of amusement mixed with awe like he can hardly believe it either.

"Two," you gasp. "I can take two." You need two, in fact. His hands are one of the few parts of him you've been able to study and you know his fingers are long, much thicker than yours and you need them to fill you up, need them to stretch you out. You need something to clench around because right now you feel like you're on the edge of the pleasure building in your core and if you don't get a release soon you'll just…just…combust.

Joel hums but you feel a second finger nudge into you. He slides them in and curls them as he goes. Your back arches off the bed.

"Dunno," he coos. "Pretty tight, sweetheart." The slight meanness to his words is in complete contrast with the gentle, attentive way he handles you. Who knew he'd be such a fucking tease.

"Well get to work, then." He scissors the digits inside of you in reply and returns to sucking on your clit. You reach down and bury your hand in his silver-streaked hair, tugging a bit harder than you intend to. Joel just moans into your cunt, the vibration making it feel like your very pelvis is rattling as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.

Sweat beads on your brow as you try to hold on. He picks up the pace and presses into your walls with his fingertips like he's looking for something. His tongue wreaks havoc on the rest of you, sucking bruises into your inner thighs when he's not abusing your clit. If this is just the foreplay you don't know how you'll survive actually fucking him. And he hasn't even asked you to touch him, hasn't shown even a hint of expectation. He's doing this to get you ready but based on the blown state of his pupils he's enjoying it almost as much as you are.

"Getting close?" he asks, breath ragged. Your skin is starting to feel deliciously raw from his beard and the hook in your belly is pulling tighter and tighter.

"Yes -- fuck -- I'm close, Joel, keep --"

His hand moves faster than before and he latches back onto your clit. Your legs start to shake and you feel your orgasm coming, it's just right there, you just need him to --

His fingers find the spot he must have been looking for and your only warning is a sharp tug on his hair and then your back arches and you come all over his face. He fingers fucks you through it and you feel it as your walls clench around him, your mouth open in a high whine as your muscles finally relax and you flop back onto the bed. Joel keeps his face in your cunt, gently lapping at your release while avoiding your sensitive clit. You push his hair back from his face and try to get your breathing under control.

He manages to get up on his own with a grunt as you pant on the bed. "Okay?" he asks. "Lookin' a little tired." You show him your middle finger and he...laughs, lips shiny with your slick. So he can laugh.

"Are you going to keep your clothes on?" you ask him. His eyes travel slowly over your bare bottom half, the redness of your thighs from his beard and the way your shirt has rucked up to the wire of your bra.

"Nah." He sits heavily on the edge of the bed to take off his boots and socks. You want to ask him if you can undress him, slowly peel off his layers button by button and explore every inch of him but you won't be able to take it if he says no so you just watch. Already you know you'll be thinking about this night for a long fucking time. The way it seems like he cares about how you're feeling, how he wants to take his time with you, how he enjoys your pleasure. It's nice. It's...making you feel wanted.

His denim button-up is tossed on the floor and he stands, shirtless, to undo his belt. The forearms and small triangle at his throat that you've been treated with thus far when he sits at the bar in no way prepared you for the rest of him. Broad shoulders, thick, muscled arms from years of hard work. Graying chest hair that travels all the way down the slight softness of his belly and in a darker trail his jeans. Your mouth waters.

"You're starin'," he says softly before unzipping his fly and pushing his jeans and boxers down in one motion.

"Taste of your own medicine." The words come out with much less bite than you intended as his cock springs free.

Well, he wasn't lying. He is big. You knew he would be based on what you felt through his pants, but seeing it is something else.

You sit up and scoot to the end of the bed to be closer. Is he really going to fit? He's bigger than anyone you've fucked before, that's for sure. A ruddy color, a little darker than his tanned chest, the tip a little lighter and already leaking. A few veins run the length of him and the hair at the base of his shaft is clearly taken care of though a little wild and a shade of deep brown that hasn't grayed much yet. His balls hang heavy, one slightly bigger than the other. He twitches under your gaze. You look up at him and wait for him to call out your staring again but instead, he's just watching you, pupils blown.

"You are...so beautiful," you breathe. He makes a dismissive noise but a flush travels up his chest and to his face. It's true. There's something about him that makes you think you could look every second for the rest of your life and not get enough.

"Should be sayin' that to you." He strokes himself once and you lick your lips. "You got a condom? Should be one in my pocket if you don't." Does he always carry one? Or did he hope to get lucky with you, just like you've been thinking about him?

"Bedside table drawer." He goes for it and you remember too late that the drawer has...other things in it, too. His eyebrows raise and he eyes your small collection of toys but says nothing, though his cock twitches again. If you asked, would he use them on you? He seems like the type to be into that. But right now you need him inside you so badly you might combust.

"Can I?" He pauses before handing the foil square to you. You take him in hand and stroke him from root to tip. He makes a noise low in his throat and you lean in to trace the vein along the bottom of his shaft with your tongue. His hips twitch forward just a bit like he's trying to keep control and failing. You know the feeling. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the slightest bit salty. You kind of lose the plot for a second, thoughts of him fucking you fading with the desire to make him feel good like this, to blow him until he's moaning your name like you were moaning his.

Joel slides his fingers into your hair and you manage to take him about halfway before he tugs gently. "I'm not complainin'," he says, voice tight. "'Specially when you look so damn pretty like this. But I've been hard as a fuckin' rock for an hour and I ain't as young as I used to be, so..." He trails off.

You place a dainty kiss on his tip and pat his hip. "Another time," you say, realizing too late what you've implied, but Joel just smirks. You tear open the foil and slide the condom on as gingerly as you can but he still hisses your name like he's scolding you, that hand in your hair pulling once again just a little. You feel the arousal pooling in your gut, sticky between your thighs.

He tugs on the collar of your shirt. "Off," he says. You're quick to obey, whipping it to a corner of your apartment along with your bra. Joel just looks for a second before reaching a calloused hand to palm one breast, thumb sliding over your nipple. "Look at you," he says, breathy, with a squeeze. "Christ."

"You gonna fuck me, Joel Miller?" You blink up at him. He swallows visibly, throat bobbing before that smirk is back.

"Only ‘cause you asked so nicely."

You scramble back up the bed on your hands and knees, leaning down on your elbows and presenting him with your bare cunt. "Cause I'm such a lady."

"That so?" he murmurs. He drags his fingers through your folds slowly, brows furrowed. You fist your hands in the sheets. "You want it like this?" he asks. He palms your hip, traces the curve of your ass and presses his fingertips into your skin. You wiggle at him a little. Most guys you hook up with want it like this. You don't mind being fucked from behind, don't mind being able to close your eyes with your face shoved in the sheets and just feel. God knows with a dick his size you'll be feeling it regardless of the position you're in. But part of you does want to look at Joel, to watch him, his expression, his handsome, rugged face. Feel his arms around you, feel the warmth of his breath on your lips as he fucks you. See what his eyes look like when he comes. But this is enough.

"Do I need to say please?"

The head of his cock presses against your entrance in reply. You crane your neck to see as much of him as you can. He's focused on your ass with a light frown, hands resting on your hips.

"Gonna go slow," he grumbles. His gaze meets yours. "For my benefit as much as yours."

Words don't come. You're breathless and dripping, desperate for him to just get on with it.

"Joel, are you gonna just stand there --"

He slowly, torturously slowly, starts to slide into you. The stretch is immediate, has you face down in the sheets, eyes fluttering. Each inch of painful stretch fades quickly to throbbing pleasure, a fullness that has you keening.

You press your hips back into him but his fingers grip tighter, holding you in place. "What did I say?" he grits out.

"Feels so good, so big," you babble. There's nothing left in your brain, your body, but this. But Joel. You have to have all of him. "I can take it, I can take your cock, I --"

"Got quite the mouth on you, huh?" he says. He keeps pressing into you, filling you up inch by inch. "Okay?" he pants. "Look at me, tell me it feels good --"

You crane your neck again, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes and look at him. His own are lidded, mouth open in an "o" like he can hardly believe it himself. A flush runs down his chest and if you didn't know better you'd say he's trembling.

"Yes, I -- god, Joel, keep going, please --"

"Doin' good, sweetheart," he coos. His hand strokes up and down your spine. "Almost there. Almost takin' all of me."

He bottoms out and you see stars. You feel lips on your back, the warm puffs of his breath on your skin as he waits for you. It's a fine line between pain and pleasure and you're walking the tightrope but the stretch is delicious. You can feel every inch of him. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears and you shift your hips a little, loving it when Joel moans.

"Alright," you manage. "Move, please." His fingertips are back on your hips and give you a squeeze before he starts to drag his cock out of you. The tip of him catches the spot inside of you that makes your back arch as he pulls out and then again when he thrusts in.

"All that work, my fingers and my tongue and you're still so fuckin' tight. Christ."

The only thing you manage to say is a litany of his name.

"Lemme hear it, baby," he grinds out. Baby. "Be so loud those fuckers downstairs hear you--"

You meet his thrusts as best you can and even though it feels so good, even though you're so full, it's not bringing you to the edge like you need. Your neck is starting to hurt from the way you're twisting to see him, your fingers gripping the sheets as hard as you can because you want to be touching him instead. But this is good, this works, maybe if you touch your clit, you'll --

You reach between your legs and Joel pulls out. You get off your elbows and turn around, almost gasping at the loss of him. "Is something wrong?"

He's frowning at you. "Should be askin' you that."

You don't know what to say. Your cunt throbs a little from being empty, the ache settling in now that he's not there to literally fuck it away. "What?"

"You stopped makin' those noises," he says softly. “The ones you were makin’ before.” You turn around and sit facing him, suddenly a little self-conscious. "Ain't gonna fuck you in a position you don't like."

"I --" You try to fight through the haze of your brain for words. "I liked it fine."

Joel waits. He just stands there at the edge of the bed and waits.

"Maybe..." you try again. "Would on my back be okay for you?"

His eyebrows raise like he can't believe you'd think otherwise. "That'll work for me," he says slowly. "Grab a pillow." You shift back on the bed as he kneels on it, positioning himself between your legs. You hand him one of your pillows and he taps your hip. "Up." You obey and he slides it under you so your lower half is lifted a bit before he presses one leg to the side, spreading you open. He slowly bends the other so that your thigh is pressed against your torso in a deep stretch without being painful. You feel bare, exposed in a way he somehow hasn't yet achieved.

Joel fixes his gaze on your face. "Let's try that." He strokes himself once and then leans over you, bracing himself on one hand near your head. He lines up to press his cock into you again. Faster than last time, you wince a little but you dig your fingertips into his back to tell him to keep going. He bottoms out and you immediately feel the difference, eyes fluttering shut. Before it was like he was plowing into you, like you were so full you could hardly handle it. But like this it's like he's melting into you, like there is no space between you anymore. You're full but it's not so harsh. You don’t know where you end and he begins.

"That better?" he croaks. You force yourself to look at him and find his face closer, closer than you thought he'd get, breath warm on your face. His forehead is beaded with sweat and his eyes search your face. This close you can see they’re grey, the lines at the corners deep with strain. Even like this, stuffed full of his cock, you could look at him all day.

"Move, Joel," you tell him. He takes that for a yes and starts at a punishing pace. You have no idea how he's kept it together this long, considering you've felt on the edge of another orgasm this entire time. You anchor your arms on his shoulders as his thrusts make you see stars.

"Ask for what you want, you hear me?" His balls smack loudly against you and he presses his lips to your ear. "You ask and I'll do my damn best."

You don't know what it is -- the overwhelming sensation of his cock dragging in and out at this angle, how close he is, his words -- but you feel tears at the corners of your eyes again. You nod frantically, hands grasping for purchase on his back.

"C'mon," Joel says. "Gotta use that mouth, sweetheart."

"Yes," you pant. "Yes, yes, Joel, yes --"

"Fuckin' perfect for me," he moans. His lips trail up your cheek, tongue catching your tears before he presses them to yours in a messy kiss that's more teeth and breath than anything else.

"Joel, Joel, Joel --"

"Gonna come for me? Gonna soak my cock like you did my face?"

Your orgasm comes like the snap of a rubber band. You hold him as tight as you can as it washes through you, the waves almost painful as he keeps fucking you fast and hard, your name a series of broken sounds from his mouth until his hips stutter and he groans deep in his chest. You try to keep your eyes on him as you come down from your high and are rewarded with the scrunch of his brow and the slight part of his lips as he comes. Beautiful, you think.

The room is all of sudden much quieter without the sounds of your fucking. It's just the dull sounds of Frank's through the floor and your combined panting as he pulls out of you and flops on the bed beside you. You wince this time, the soreness really settling in. Joel finds your hand and kisses the back of it in a move so unexpectedly tender you can't look at him, raw as you are already. The bed shifts and you figure he's throwing out the condom.

"You okay?" he says. You open your eyes and find him standing at the edge, looking at you. He's holding your robe from the bathroom. You stretch and let him look.

"Yeah," you reply. You give him a smile as you scoot to the edge and wrap yourself in it when he holds it out. "Thank you." Joel grunts.

You go to the bathroom yourself to pee and see the damage. Hair a mess, your mascara gathered around your eyes like you've been working hard. You've got hickies forming on your neck and chest, the skin rubbed a bit raw from his beard around your mouth. You love how you look right now.

You look like you got fucked well. And you did.

But now you want a shower and a snack and to go to bed.

You half expect Joel to be gone when you go back into the bedroom. You remember belatedly that you don't let hookups stay the night. Will he leave if you ask him to? If he's already left then you don't need to worry about it. A small part of you worries you won’t ask him to go.

Instead, he's sitting on the edge of your bed putting his boots on. His shirt is unbuttoned but other than that he's dressed. He looks up briefly. His own hair is going in a thousand different directions and if this wasn't a one-night stand you'd fix it for him, a hand pushing it back like you did when he was between your thighs. But things are different outside the heat of the moment.

"You want some water or anything?" you ask instead.

He shakes his head and finishes his boot, stands and buttons his shirt. "Nah," he says. "Should just head out."

You wonder belatedly if there's anyone at home missing him. Maybe he's got a wife. Maybe he's got a life that he's running away from and into your arms.

"Bar'll be closed by now, or as good as," you say. You spy his jacket by the door and bend to pick it up. "No one'll see you."

Joel's face does something funny that you don't quite know how to read. He takes his jacket from you and shrugs it on. "Alright," he says.

He looks awkward in a way you didn't know he could so you throw him a line. "Thanks," you say. For fucking me. For listening to me. For making me feel good. "It was fun. See you around?"

His expression softens. He steps close and gently holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger before kissing you once, firmly but chastely compared to what you were doing before.

"See you around," he says. And then he opens the door and disappears down the stairs.

You hear the outer door close and only then do you let out a breath. Your entire body feels like you just spent hours at the gym. But your mind? It's going a thousand miles an hour. You don't know what to think about first -- how Joel looked, how he spoke to you, how his hands felt. How he implored you to ask for what you wanted, how he made you feel good because it made him feel good. How you desperately, desperately want to see him again, to know him in every possible way. How you want him to walk back up the stairs and hold you until you fall asleep.

And that's not how you expected to feel. It's not how you should feel after a one-night stand with a guy you serve a few times a week at your place of employment. Like he saw right to the core of you, like he gave you something you didn't know you needed.

You need to get a hold of yourself. This is how it starts -- this is how you get hurt. You care. Well, you always care, but no one has to know that. You let someone care about you. Not that Joel does, but he could.

But isn't that the one thing you want most of all?

You sleep in the next day. There's not much that needs to be done at Frank's besides bookkeeping and inventory which doesn't take you long. When you finally make it downstairs, three Advil popped to ease the soreness of your entire body, you're surprised to find Bill himself sitting at the bar.

He looks just as you remember, hair a little longer and a little grayer. Shit kickers and jeans, a hunting jacket and trucker hat. You'll bet his actual truck is parked around back where no one from the road can see it.

"Uh, hi?" Bill hasn't come around for at least a year, which is making your stomach sink a little. The last time was when there was a fire because some dumbass tried to smoke inside and he wanted to make sure you weren't going to quit on him for having to throw water on the nasty curtains.

"Heard about Seth," he says. Always right to the point, this guy. He's drinking what looks to be Coke with a lemon. "Sit." You do as he says. So much for bookkeeping.

"Yep," you say. You have no idea where he heard it and know better than to ask. "No big deal."

"I want to retire."

What? "Do you...work here?" Bill appreciates honesty and he's the kind of asshole that respects you if you're an asshole back.

"No," he says. "But I own the fuckin' dump. And me and Frank want to retire."

"There's a Frank?"

"My partner, dumbass. Keep up."

You were already groggy and still muddled from last night but this is forcing you to bring everything into sharp focus. Bill wants to retire. Which means he wants to...

"So my options are to sell this dump or find someone to take it."

If he sells the bar you're shit out of luck. No way another owner would let you live upstairs the way you do for next to nothing and let you work here and run the show. This is...a lot to take in.

"Are you listening to me?" Bill says. You blink a few times.

"No," you admit. "Can you say that again?"

He sighs. "Do you want it?"

"The bar?" you ask incredulously.

"No, idiot, the dumpster out back. Yes, the bar." He raps his knuckles on the bar top. "You could keep everything the same. It's just paperwork, really. I'll just give it to you. God knows a young person like you could make it nicer, turn a better profit." He says it like it's an insult.

"Are you fucking serious?" This goes against most every rule you've had for yourself for the last who knows how long. Don't get attached, keep moving. No one really needs you so you can disappear whenever. You haven't gotten bored yet, haven't gotten restless, but you know it'll happen. There's no way you can do this forever. But owning a bar? That would make you stay. You'd have no out. You’d have to let yourself be seen, let yourself be needed. You’d have to commit. You’d have to not fuck it up.

"Why not?" he shrugs. "I know you said it was temporary back when you moved in, but you practically run it."

He's right. Everything is temporary for you. But would sticking around be so bad? Would trying to actually make a life for yourself, have a home base, a thing you care about be the end of the world? And then there's Joel...No. Not going there.

"I..."

"Either you take it or I shut it down." Bill gets off his stool and looks around. "No one cares enough about it to try to sell it."

"Then why me?"

"Do you care about it?" he asks. His piercing stare pins you to your stool, compels you to be honest with him where you're rarely honest with yourself.

"Yeah," you say. "I do."

"Then there's you're fuckin' answer. I know you do. You clean the shit out of this place and train the seasonal dipshits and learn the names of the fuckin’ drunks and live upstairs and make this a good place for good people to come. You think no one notices, but I notice. We all notice." It's possibly the most words Bill has ever said to you in a row.

"Can I...think about it?"

He shrugs. "Sure," he says. "Not too long, though. Gotta decide by the end of the year. Maybe earlier."

That gives you three months, give or take. To figure out what the fuck you're going to do.

With one conversation Bill has shattered your entire life here. Now there’s actually a timer on it, this little piece you’ve carved out and started to enjoy. Could you make it a real thing? Could you finally admit to yourself that this is what you want – to be wanted? To be needed? To have something that’s yours?

The bar door shuts and you realize Bill has left you alone with your thoughts. You shift in your stool and a wave of soreness rolls through you from your core.

You thunk your forehead on the bar. “Fuck me,” you say to the empty room.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction

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vicsy · 11 months ago

Text

what saddens me the most about the Lance situation as it is, especially in the lights of the tweet liked by Bianca Bustamante (who is a signed junior driver at McLaren as of today) where op calls Lance “an autist”, apart from the regular “just a pay driver” shtick, is the normalization of hating Lance. somehow people in the fandom and evidently among the actual drivers (hello, Drugo, you bitch) have adopted a rhetoric that paints Lance as someone who is ok to hate because: a) daddy owns the team; b) doesn’t have goat level results; c) just because! he’s not widely loved, so it’s all fine, all good. and it’s not real since we’re on the internet. right?

it’s sickening to see what people say about him (both using ableist language, antisemitic comments etc) and then defend themselves saying “well you see he’s this and that and this so I hate him”. you don’t. you’re just full of inhuman hate and need an outlet. or you wanna be one of the “cool kids” which means only liking certain drivers and shitting on the others. fucking check yourselves.

since f1 fandom across all platforms is far from healthy, you get used to seeing takes that make you want to gouge your eyes out, yet Lance seems to be the most popular target of that hatred, unbiased as it is. it’s not even fully about the money or the fact that Lance, indeed, has a father who loves him very much and made sure his son got all the opportunities in the world. you can be mad about it all you want but it won’t change anything.

the line between not liking a particular driver and straight up mixing him with dirt is non-existent these days.

in all honesty, if Lance really didn’t care about racing, at all, he would have walked away already. why risk your life if you’re already set for life money wise? sit and think about that for a bit.

regarding the tweet recently liked by Bianca — I want to make it clear that I’m not familiar with her and I am not hating on her, simply judging this incident — I can’t help but wonder. you made it to f1 and you know how soc med works. likes are public. why? answer might not be clear. but entertain this idea — if there was already a precedent where she found it ok to like a tweet that praises her and shits on Lance, imagine what the kind of mindset there is already in place. so many things we don’t know about that happens behind the scenes.

this isn’t the last we have shit like that happen and it isn’t the first. doesn’t make it any less frustrating and rage inducing.

#Lance nation will rise one day #I’m so done with the hate #so many of you should chill for real #f1 #tw ableism #tw ableist language #tw #Lance stroll #I honestly don’t care about Bianca but I guess this could say a lot about her #i don’t want to do the whole oh she is young and stupid #I don’t know if this is the case #hope she realises that it’s fucked up thing

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inoreuct · 9 months ago

Note

more sanji drinking angst plis,,, 🙏🏼😁

y’know, it’s normal when zoro drinks. he has an iron liver and a sky-high tolerance. he get mildly tipsy with the amount of alcohol sufficient to kill a regular man.

when sanji drinks, though, it’s usually… not very good.

they’re in the galley, have been since dinner. zoro’s drowsy and full and slumped over the table with his chin in his hand as he watches sanji scrub at the dishes until they squeak, divested of his suit jacket and shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, and the cook looks haggard. they’ve all been expecting it, really, what with Whole Cake being a fucking doozy— but sanji’s been holding it together perfectly. big smiles and neatly-pressed suits and coiffed hair and all.

zoro knows him well enough to know that he’s due to break at some point. still, tonight is the first time he’s seen sanji like this; like he’d just decided to say fuck it all and throw pretence to the wind. maybe it had been thanks to the emptiness of the galley, save the both of them. maybe sanji had considered it safe because zoro was in no place to judge.

but when sanji had picked up that bottle of rum, he hadn’t put it down until there was nothing left.

zoro had let him drink. the cook hadn’t even been smoking any more than usual— hadn’t had a single hair out of place, no sign of the pressure except the strain at the edges of his smile. everybody had been walking on eggshells for the past few days and sanji had just kept going like nothing was wrong, which zoro knows means quite a lot is wrong, because sanji’s a self-sacrificial bastard who wouldn’t be able to ask for help if his life depended on it.

didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt, though. he’s felt like he couldn’t breathe, the whole of last week; it doesn’t feel right seeing the cook with a bottle between his lips instead of a cigarette, liquor wetting the corners of his mouth instead of smoke. it makes part of zoro tighten into a dead knot. on one hand, it’s an unspoken show of trust— deliberately left alone so as to not draw attention to it, but one all the same. sanji would never let himself go in front of anyone else like this. maybe a few months earlier he’d think the cook just didn’t care enough for his opinion and get all offended, but now?

sanji knows he’s here. he’s never unaware of his surroundings, and especially now after… everything. he’s believing that zoro won’t judge him, and he won’t. he doesn’t. but enough is enough, and sanji’s grip on the edge of the plate is tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

it’s almost a relief in a really twisted way. zoro’s been hovering by the sidelines, sleeping with one eye open and waiting for sanji to crack just so he can catch all the pieces before the cook falls apart completely, and it seems like this is it.

his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. “alright, let’s get you to bed.”

“no.” sanji doesn’t stop scrubbing. he doesn’t even bother looking up. “why?”

zoro scoffs. “because you’re fucking drunk, cook. you’ve been washing that plate for five minutes.”

“well maybe it’s just not fucking clean, yeah?” sanji spits, quiet vitriol leadening his words even with his head bowed, and his breathing is jerky as zoro walks forward.

“oi.” it doesn’t come out harshly, exactly, but he needs sanji to know that he isn’t fucking around with this. “What the hell’s going on?”

“i don’t know.”

“what do you mean you don’t—”

“i don’t know!”

zoro lurches back at the outburst as the cook whips around, seething within the span of a second, plate dropped carelessly into the water in the sink. he hears it thunk when it hits the bottom.

“i don’t know, alright?” sanji laughs, eyes wild. “nothing’s wrong. everything’s wrong. everything is fucking perfect and i feel like i’m fucking dying inside.” his voice cracks right before he takes a visible breath and turns sharply, dipping his hand under the water to grab the plate and sponge again.

zoro watches his shoulders tremble. every movement of his now is precise and carefully calculated; he’s moving like a fucking robot and zoro hates it. hates the way his spine looks rigid enough to snap with a touch. hates the way his face is a placid mask, still water with a storm roiling beneath. zoro doesn’t know how to approach this other than with barbed words and concern thinly veiled as confrontation. he doesn’t know what to do other than be here because it’s better than not being here at all.

sanji’s hands have been scrubbed pink and raw. “get out, mosshead.”

“no.”

the cook’s cuticles are peeling, his fingertips pruned. he never lets either of them get this bad. “i said get out—”

“and I said no.” zoro crosses his arms. he counts three seconds of silence before sanji snaps.

“god, for once could you fucking listen?!” the cook snarls, rounding on zoro like a cornered animal and waving his arms. “i don’t want to talk to you right now! i do not want you here! so please, fuck off and— put me down, you piece of shit!” sanji borderline screams, struggling and wiggling over zoro’s shoulder as he’s hauled up and marched out of the galley.

zoro winces as the toe of a steel-capped oxford jams into his ribs, digging in deeper as sanji grunts with the effort. he doesn’t know where he’s going but they end up outside the infirmary, and he shoulders the door open before depositing sanji on the bed without preamble. “stay,” he grunts, ignoring the noises of outrage and turning to go get water.

“you can’t tell me what to do,” sanji spits from behind him, cheeks red from more than just anger as he pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. he either doesn’t realise that he’s listing to the side or he doesn’t care.

“sit down or I’ll make you.”

the cook barks a laugh that snaps in the air like a neck in rope. “try! i fucking dare you, marimo, you—”

zoro tackles him down and he screeches like a trapped cat, trying to escape even as the swordsman pins his legs and shoves his shoulders down into the bunk. “you are drunk. stop it.”

“why?” sanji shouts in his face. the cook is straining against him, all wild eyes and bared teeth, shoulders jerking with a sardonic laugh. “don’t wanna fight anymore?”

“no. i don’t.” the air is suddenly too quiet, too heavy, with something zoro doesn’t know if he should name. he watches as the cook’s face falls and twists into something sullen as he tries one last time to jerk his way out of zoro’s hold. “not like this.”

their ship rocks gently as zoro slowly eases off, shifting his weight back and sitting on the edge of the mattress with a soundless, weary sigh. there’s still a stubborn set to sanji’s chin even as he lays there on his back, unmoving from where zoro put him— leave it to him to be contrary for the sake of being contrary. the swordsman takes a deep breath to suppress an eye roll and opens his mouth to say something—

“it hurts.”

zoro stills, turning so he can see sanji better. “what hurts, cook?”

“everything.”

the blond is staring at the ceiling, unblinking and unreadable. the fabric of his slacks is riding up and zoro swallows down the urge to curl a hand around his pale ankle for comfort. he tells himself he doesn’t know where the urge to soothe came from, but he knows, he knows— this melancholy is something that sanji buries so deep, none of them catch even a glimpse of it on a normal day. his face is a blank slate, his usual fire banked, and he looks so drained. an cracked shell of himself running on empty. “i don’t want to feel it. i don’t want to feel anything,” he continues, softly enough that zoro has to strain to hear, leaning in instinctively.

glossy blue eyes flick over. golden hair scrunches against the off-white sheets as sanji turns his face towards him and whispers, “doesn’t that make me exactly like them?”

no. zoro swallows, at the same time both too wet and too dry, feeling a little like he’s been gutted with a dull knife. he says a mental to hell with it and slowly shifts his hand to wrap his fingers around sanji’s ankle, just a gentle grip, his thumb resting beneath the notch of bone. he can hear the soft sounds of the waves outside as it melds with sanji’s breathing, as he opens his mouth and comes up dry for things to say. “…get some sleep, curls.”

“can’t.” sanji purses his lips, shrugging a shoulder as he looks away like it’s no big deal. “can’t sleep. not well, at least. not since…”

zoro feels his own heart thud against his ribs as his gaze slips over sanji’s face, the redness rimming his eyes and the dark circles beneath. “i’m sleeping with you tonight,” he decides.

the cook makes an aborted noise of indignation before apparently deciding that it isn’t worth the effort. “we can’t fit two people in a bed.”

zoro shrugs, unaffected in the face of the venomous look sanji shoots him. “we can try.”

sanji mutters something to the ceiling under his breath. the swordsman pretends not to hear it.

they end up crammed onto the infirmary bed, sanji squashed against the wall and zoro almost falling off. the blond wiggles around in discomfort for five minutes before sitting bolt upright with a hissed curse and undoing his dress shirt in a frenzy; zoro stifles a laugh as he balls it up and hurls it at the desk across the room before flopping back down with a loud huff.

the cook scrunches himself up, spine pressed against the wall and one knee pulled up between them to maintain the distance, pointed at zoro’s gut as a subtle threat. “i’m not gonna bite you, y’know,” zoro grumbles. here he is doing this out of goodwill and this is how he’s treated.

“i wouldn’t put it past you,” sanji snips in reply. “also, you stink.”

“no i don’t. i just showered.”

“irrelevant.”

“priss.”

“moron.”

“spoiled.”

“i have standards, you sentient piece of kelp.”

“you—” zoro grits out, before he stalls. somehow, throughout this whole exchange, they’d inched closer and closer together and now sanji’s shoulder is digging into his breastbone, his breath warm across zoro’s cheek even as a brush of his skin above the loose, low front of zoro’s shirt feels completely opposite. “why’re you so fuckin’ cold?” he mutters, briskly rubbing at sanji’s upper arms before the cook bats him away with a startled hiss.

“don’t—” he cuts off and huffs a harsh breath, sneering in the dark as he digs for the right word, “—coddle me.”

“why not?” zoro shoots back. the words are out of his mouth faster than he can process, but it’s too late to take them back. “give me one good reason and i’ll stop. just one.”

the quiet that falls into place after that is broken by the sound of sanji’s swallow and nothing else. it’s nearly pitch-black; they’d put out the lamp on the wall and the infirmary has no windows. if zoro strains his eye he can see sanji’s outline curled close to his own front, golden hair darkened to honey and arms wrapped around himself.

he recalls how it had felt to have fine bones beneath his hand. how the cook hadn’t kicked him off.

the hand he rests on sanji side is tentative. barely-there pressure, a ghost of a touch with enough space for sanji to back away. he settles his palm down more firmly after a few seconds, tracking his thumb up and down the bumps of sanji’s ribs, and he barely stops his breath from catching when the cook wiggles away from the wall and presses his spine into zoro’s hand.

sanji’s looking at him. he can see the occasional flutter of long lashes, feel the weight of the cook’s attention like sanji’s preparing to say something, but it never comes. a soft breath slips from his lips before zoro feels a hand curl around his waist, fingers curling into his shirt.

“sanji.”

the cook heaves a long-suffering sigh. it doesn’t hide how he’s affected by zoro using his real name; zoro can read him too well for that. knows him too well for that. “what.”

zoro readjusts, fingertips pressing into the small of sanji’s back to pull him closer, and wonder of wonders, the cook lets him. “you’re nothing like them.”

he pretends he doesn’t feel sanji’s arm tighten around him after a few seconds. he notices that his shirt’s damp right before he falls asleep, right where sanji has his face buried in his shoulder.

he doesn’t mention any of it.

the next morning is… interesting.

zoro had woken to an empty bed, with the sheets just barely warm and hazy recollections of a lithe body tucked to his side, a leg thrown over his and soft hair under his chin. he stretches and ambles down to the galley, scratching at his stomach beneath his shirt as he yawns, and right on cue— sanji’s disdainful little tongue click reaches his ears, and he smiles. everything’s back to normal, then.

there’s more of the usual; luffy getting yelled at to leave the eggs alone, i don’t care if you’re hungry, they are raw, and nami and robin being handed their special little tiny cups of coffee and tea respectively. the rest of the crew filters in, and zoro people-watches from his spot on the ratty corner couch before he eventually gets up and slides into his seat at the table.

but when sanji takes his spot beside him, it feels different. the cook’s made onigiri for breakfast, the plate set down just a little closer to zoro’s side than usual before he sits, and zoro pauses with his chopsticks in the air as an ankle bumps into his.

not roughly, or painfully, nowhere near, no. just a reminder. a small nudge that could say any possible number of things, but from the way sanji’s gaze meets his before darting away, he’d guess it’s the thank you that their cook always has so much trouble saying. it’s never a lack of gratitude— more of a refusal to acknowledge that he needed help in the first place, that he accepted it, but zoro will take what he can get.

the circles under sanji’s eyes aren’t quite so dark anymore.

zoro knocks back. he feels the rasp of his boot laces against the heel of sanji’s patent leather oxford, and neither of them pull away. the swordsman presses his lips together and takes a big bite to hide his smile, failing momentarily when sanji immediately starts berating his abysmal table manners, marimo, honestly, if you choke i will leave you to die, and yeah, sure. back to normal.

he catches sanji’s eye again, sky-cornflower-ocean blue, and he wonders what sanji could be seeing in his to make his face soften like that.

normal, and maybe a little something new.

(he isn’t quite sure what to do the following night. sanji’s already in his own bunk when he slips in for a quick few hours of shut-eye, but it isn’t long before he feels someone climbing in with him, and he just knows instinctively without even needing to open his eye. they’ve got limbs hanging out here and there but they fit reasonably well and zoro wakes with sanji’s sleep shirt tucked in his fist and his thin blanket pulled up around his shoulders.

it goes on like this night after night to the point where their crew knows, he thinks. even if zoro discounts the fact that most of them share a bunkroom, they’ve still got to know something’s up; sanji glows like sunlight reflecting off the ocean now, real smiles and laughs that have him tossing his head back and holding his stomach, eyes in sapphire half-moons. robin brings it up offhandedly one day and zoro hums that proper sleep’s doing their cook good— she gives him that look that she does, and he turns away with a smile that he hides in his arm.

the first time sanji finds him in the crow’s nest, he’s still asleep when zoro’s watch ends. the cook’s stretched out on the bench above as zoro sits on the floor, hand draped down against zoro’s collarbone, his face so peaceful that zoro can’t— fuck, he can’t wake him.

and it can’t be comfortable lying on his own arm like that; zoro sits down and carefully pushes him up until sanji’s leaning on his shoulder, that sharp nose tucked under his jaw, and drifts asleep.)

(he stirs awake before sanji’s gone. his eye flutters open to find the cook mid-yawn, working out a crick in his neck and bathed in early-morning light, warm and golden. the cook realises he’s watching and freezes, shoulders going tense and stiff—

he deflates a little when zoro blinks at him, sleep-warm and bleary. “gotta make breakfast, marimo,” he murmurs, reaching out after a moment’s hesitation.

the hand that cups zoro’s cheek is gently callused and somehow familiar. he turns into it like a flower to the sun and breathes in something that he never even realised he’d gotten used to, olive oil and shoe polish and orange blossom pomade. “i know,” he replies, pressing the words into sanji’s palm, and a thumb drags across his cheekbone.

“need anything before i go?” sanji asks, and they both know it’s half a joke. what could he possibly give zoro in here? a dumbbell sandwich?

that other half, though— it’s far too serious. a cold plunge of water through zoro’s muddled early-morning brain. he knows what he wants, but zoro also knows that patience is a virtue for a reason.

the cook already has a hard enough time letting people in. zoro doesn’t want to push. the hand against his cheek is enough for him, even if it is all sanji could ever want, and so he slips the blond a wry grin. “onigiri?”

“you— ugh, fine.” sanji huffs. “anything else?”

zoro frowns, growing increasingly convinced that this is some sort of trap. these are unprecedented levels of generosity. “…protein shake?”

it takes all of two seconds before sanji puts his face into his hands, taking a deep breath before zoro hears something about having to do everything myself, don’t i? the cook plants his hands on his hips, tapping his foot with one brow arched. “of all the people in the world,” he mutters through his teeth, advancing on zoro with enough of a menacing air that the swordsman leans back into the backrest, “of course it had to be you.”

“me what?” zoro says warily, eyeing sanji up and down, and opens his mouth to continue before a fist grips his collar and there’s a brush of contact at his temple— a kiss, he realises, before all the thoughts drain out of his fucking brain.)

(he’s still reeling when he stumbles his way to breakfast. still wide-eyed as he washes the plates, for once, without complaint. it’s when it’s just the two of them, when zoro twists around to ask a question that he hasn’t yet phrased, that arms lock around his waist and sanji’s forehead presses to his nape.

they’re quiet for a long, long while. “you remind me that i’m not like them, y’know,” sanji breathes, barely loud enough to be heard.

zoro turns in his hold, hands dripping all over the floor, fuck, the cook’ll make him clean that up later, he knows and he isn’t even mad about it. “what do you mean, curls?”

sanji leans into him, all sharp edges and bony joints softened by lean muscle and zoro’s fondness, fingers long and thin and laced together over zoro’s hip. “i’m pretty damn sure they’ve never felt like this.”)

(not much changes after that. franky does make them a bigger bunk to share, though, and they fight perhaps even more fiercely now; afternoons are spent toying with each other across the deck, pushing their limits, pushing each other higher until nami yells at them to stop making a racket. zoro doesn’t pretend that he can’t tell when sanji needs a little more contact, keeping him close when perfectly filed nails dig into his shirt. sanji takes care of them all like he always does, and he lets zoro take care of him— most of the time, at least. it’s still a toss-up on whether he’ll explode or break down whenever anyone tries to help him, but with zoro it’s either both in succession or neither.

sometimes he picks a fight and then cries afterwards. others, he concedes to being wrapped in a ratty old blanket and tucked into zoro’s chest where he can hide from the world.

he sleeps through every night now, though. he’s fiery and sharp-tongued and bright-eyed and when he’s had a bit too much to drink he just gets loud, fooling around with their captain and cackling with nami in a corner of the galley between conspiratorial whispers, but zoro can’t deny him anything even though he’s fairly sure they’re plotting his downfall.

he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

#THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ANONNNN #will never get tired of angsting this babygirl. i’m sorry he just has so many Issues #BUT I ALWAYS GIVE THEM HAPPY ENDINGS ALRIGHT SO IT BALANCES OUTTTT #it’s almost 4am this time this is actually horrid #GOODNIGHT ZOSAN NATIONNN #zosan #one piece #black leg sanji #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #one piece sanji #one piece zosan #one piece zoro #sanji #zoro #ino writes #ino’s ask box

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its-time-to-write · 1 year ago

Note

jamie and reader used to date before he went back to his old team and broke reader’s heart 💔 now he’s back and wants reader back ANGST AND FLUFF PLEASEEE

I’ve been thinking about this request since FOREVER so I hope I did it justice!!

wonder what it’d be like

You don’t get paid enough for this shit.

“So you do know Jamie Tartt?” asks some journalist doing some piece on some footballer crap. You don’t know and you don’t care.

“If you’re not going to order anything, I’m going to get my boss and have you removed from the premises,” you reply, undeterred in your mission to wipe down empty tables. Brian loves his coffee shop and is fiercely protective of both his employees and his peaceful atmosphere. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s kicked someone out.

“Well, do you have any comment on the fact that he said you were the love of his life?”

You don’t miss a beat. “No I do not. Can I get you any coffee or should I get Brian?”

The journalist declines both, and is out the door.

Fucking Jamie Tartt. What does he even think he’s doing? How did you even come up in an interview? Was the question, who, Jamie Tartt, is the greatest love of your life?

(You’d find out later that yes, that was the question. The journalist was looking for an answer like “Keeley Jones,” or “Kiera Knightley,” something a little spicy.)

It doesn’t matter, the journalist (you think his name was Trent) is gone and you can go back to making coffee and chatting with the regulars.

—

You should have known that wasn’t the end of it.

God, why can’t you just work in peace? You have enough on your plate, between homework and student loans and the person who’s complaining that their iced coffee is “too cold.”

You don’t need to add “prick footballer ex-boyfriend,” to the list.

But he seems bound and determined to add himself to your list of things to take care of, with the way he’s following you around as you hand people their orders.

“Trent said you wouldn’t talk to him,” he says.

He takes your silence as license to keep going. “Why didn’t you just take the money? Can’t be making much here.”

Do not let him get to you, you remind yourself. Do not sink to his level.

So you just shrug. “I’m not one of those people who fucks a famous footballer just for the money. Now I’m going to give you the same choice I gave that goddamn reporter: you can get a coffee or you can get. Out.”

So Jamie leaves.

—

It figures that your ex would find some way to make your life hell. Sure, you’ve gotten mostly over him and you have your own life and you’re on your way to becoming an accountant because numbers are fun and numbers don’t break your heart. So of course, now is when he decides to show up and have journalists poking around.

But you refuse to talk about him with anyone. It’s rude, in your opinion. It devalues your old relationship and yourself and you won’t do it.

So instead you stay after hours, going over finances at the café while Brian and his boyfriend chatter softly and try new coffee combinations.

You laugh as they bicker and and sip everything they set before you, grateful that you don’t have to think about the day Jamie got signed to Manchester City and decided that he was too good for you.

Unfortunately, you have to go home at some point, which means you’re wide awake in your bed, flatmates all asleep leaving you to replay that whole terrible day.

—

(He said, “It ain’t gonna work, babe, I’m in the Premier League now and I should be with someone who’s at my same level.”

You said, “Don’t call me babe.”

He said, “Don’t waste any tears over me, I won’t be crying so you shouldn’t either.”

You said, “I sure as hell won’t cry over a heartless dick like you.”

He said, “That’s a heartless Premier League dick to you.”

And that was it. A year-long relationship and four year-long friendship down the tubes.)

—

The article hits the papers and now you’re constantly being harassed by journalists.

You read it, the part about you. It was written in interview format, with a bolded question and then Jamie’s response. It was like a glimpse into his personal life, who he was outside the pitch.

Jamie, you’ve had an astonishing career at such a young age, and made a name for yourself both on and off the pitch. Your name has been in the tabloids with many famous models and actresses in the few short years you’ve played in the Premier League. So my question is, in the history of your romantic entanglements, who is the absolute love of your life?

In your opinion, it was a long lead-up to a short question.

Jamie’s response was two words. Your first and last name.

That fucker.

It makes work so bad that you had to hide in the back while Brian tells people to leave.

You apologize profusely once everything’s closed and everyone’s gone.

“I’ll give you my official notice and everything, and I can still help out with finances if you want,” you say. “I’m- not trying to be annoying, but the extra money would be really helpful while I look for another job.”

Brian shakes his head. “I’m not firing you, kid,” he says. “It’ll die down. And Caleb and I are happy to have you over for dinner if you want to talk about it.”

You’re so relieved and grateful that you hug him.

—

It’s late again. You’re in your kitchen. All three of your flatmates are out and will be gone until the morning, so you have the flat all to yourself. You’ve lit some candles and turned on the soft lights, and are criss-cross on the counter listening to Fleetwood Mac with brownies in the oven.

You allow yourself to think about some of the questions that were thrown at you throughout the day.

How long have you known Jamie Tartt?

When was the last time you spoke?

Are you still friends?

You shake your head. Weird.

There’s a knock at the door. Even weirder. You’re not expecting anyone.

You hop down and pad down the hall, standing on tiptoe to peer through the peephole. It’s Jamie. You make a face, double-check that the door is locked, and turn back to the kitchen.

“I know you’re there,” Jamie calls through the door. “I can see the light on, and your car’s out front. I just want to talk.”

You’re not going to open the door, but then he calls your name and you’re rooted to the floor.

You open the door just enough so you can look at him, but not enough that he thinks he can come inside.

“I can’t imagine what you’d have to say to me other than an apology, especially after the day I’ve had,” you say, more fire in your voice than you remembered you had.

The fire dies when you get a good look at Jamie’s face.

It’s different.

He looks… forlorn, almost?

“I do, I do have an apology,” he says. There’s no malice, no conniving look on his face.

You say, “Ok,” in a tone so soft that Jamie could almost forget the anger you just held.

“Look,” he begins, but is cut off by your timer beeping in the kitchen. You sigh.

“I have to get those,” you say. “Can’t burn down the flat. Do you… do you want to come in? Just for a minute.”

Jamie nods and follows you inside, closing the door behind him.

He follows you to the kitchen, close on your heels, where you motion for him to sit while you take out the brownies.

“Right,” he says once you’re leaning on the counter across from him. “Look- I was a prick. I thought I was fucking special because my right foot was kissed by god. I didn’t know how to fucking handle it so I acted like a prick. And I never said I’m sorry.” He takes a breath. “Keeley’s always talkin’ about accountability, so… here I am. Taking fucking accountability.”

You just look at him.

“I’m not looking for forgiveness,” he hurriedly continues. “Just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry for hurting you.”

You’re still not talking, so Jamie gets up.

“Right,” he says. “Right. I’m going to leave ya now. Got fucking trainin tomorrow.”

He’s halfway down the hall when he turns and says, “Oh, by the way, I called your uni. Paid the rest of your tuition, gave them some extra in case you decide you want to keep going.” Then he turns around again and actually heads to the door.

For a moment, you’re too shocked to even move but the magnitude of what he just said sinks in.

“OI,” you bellow. Jamie freezes, hand on the door handle.

“Get. Back here,” you say, voice tight.

“Jamie,” you say once he’s sitting again, “you can’t just pay my student loans. The whole reason I never talk to the press about you is because I don’t want to be like those people who just, like, use you for your money. I had it handled and I don’t need you thinking that I’m just- just- using you. And fuck off with saying that shit in a magazine,” you continue, “You can’t just use me to make yourself more family-friendly. Saying that you like the girl who works in a fucking coffee shop so she can get through school and become an accountant. I mean, what the fuck? Just say it was a model or an actress or something, but don’t use me, because I never used you.”

Jamie shakes his head. “But it’s not like that,” he says earnestly. “I know what you’re like. I know it ain’t about the money. That’s why I said what I said. You really are the love of me life.”

You’re silent, analyzing his face. There’s nothing that indicates he’s lying, and if you can claim to know Jamie at all, you’d have to admit that this might be the most sincere you’ve ever seen him.

All you can manage is a weak, “Oh.”

“I’m really, really sorry.”

“Yeah,” you reply, “you keep saying that. I forgive you. But that doesn’t mean that I want to be friends with you.”

Jamie nods. “Yeah, no I get that, yeah. Right. I’m not looking for that. I just needed you to know.”

You’re both silent for an awkward moment.

“Right,” Jamie says again. “Guess I’d better go. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

You nod, letting Jamie see himself out.

—

“So, you’re not taking him back?”

“Brian,” you say, “why the absolute fuck would I do that?”

He laughs. “I don’t know, if I had some handsome, rich young footballer come to me with an apology that I didn’t ask for, I’d’ve snapped him right up!”

“Don’t let Caleb hear you say that,” you warn.

Brian laughs again. “Oh hon, he’s heard me say so much worse.”

You snort then turn back to the column of numbers in front of you. It’s bright and early, thirty minutes before opening. That gives you twenty minutes to finish what you’re doing before sneaking out the back door. You’re scribbling in the margins in blue glitter pen when there’s a knock on the glass door. You frown.

“Who on earth is knocking?” you ask.

Brian shrugs. “No idea,” he replies as he goes to look.

The frown stays affixed to your face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that Brian just lied.

He’s back a moment later.

“Think these are for you,” he says, arm full of flowers.

You drop your pen.

“What the hell,” you whisper.

Brian just grins and places them on the table. “A nice young man in a pink tracksuit dropped them off. Said to give them to you and that he’ll have more tomorrow.”

“Fucker,” you hiss.

“Me or him?”

You glare. “Both. Either. I don’t care. Take these home to Caleb or put them around the shop. I’m leaving.”

You shuffle your papers together and flee the coffee shop, door banging behind you.

—

“Twat,” you whisper to no one in particular.

Jamie’s delivered flowers every day for a week and a half and you’re not sure how he manages it, but he always avoids being caught by you. You’re not sure why he’s delivering them to your place of work, but you have a hunch that somehow, somehow Brian and Caleb are in on it.

It’s fucking annoying, really. They’re so beautiful and in all your favorite colors and you’re absolutely pissed off that he still knows anything personal about you.

You’re even more pissed off that you like it.

I mean, come on, he has your forgiveness; what more does he want?

The worst part is you actually miss him. You miss the Jamie you dated, the one you fell in love with but are not particularly fond of the Jamie who dumped you when he got signed for Man City. What’s to stop him from doing that again?

You decide you’re going to talk to him.

—

Brian brings in a particularly large bunch the next day and you’re on your feet in a flash. You’re out the door before he can ask where you’re going, but he doesn’t need to. He already knows.

You look up and down the street. You know Jamie couldn’t have gotten far.

You catch a flash of blonde hair zipping away to your right.

“TARTT,” you bellow.

The blonde hair freezes as you march up the street.

Jamie turns and grins sheepishly, “Hey, love,” he says.

“Stop bringing me flowers. It’s fucking annoying.”

It might be Jamie’s imagination, but there seems to be slightly less rage in your eyes today.

“Thought you liked that sort of thing,” he says.

“I do,” you say, “usually. When I know why it’s happening. I don’t know why you’re doing it. You already paid my student loans and apologized. I don’t really know what else you want from me.”

“A second chance,” Jamie says promptly. “I weren’t kidding in the article. You can tell me to fuck off right now and I’ll leave you alone. Can’t promise that I’ll never hurt you again, but I can fucking guarantee it won’t be on purpose.”

You’re silent, giving Jamie the tiniest spark of hope.

“Fuck you,” you finally say. Jamie raises an eyebrow as you glare at him. “Fuck you for actually fucking changing. And for making me love you again. You’re all I can fucking think about and it’s been driving me crazy, and Brian’s been no help with all his, ‘you should call him,’ and ‘he seems like a good lad.’ He’s fucking right and I’m fucking mad about it.”

“Yeah?” Jamie asks, “Why don’t you tell me more over dinner tonight? I’ll take you on a proper date.”

You actually smile at him for the first time in ages. “Alright,” you reply, “one date. One. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

Jamie doesn’t care. You’re smiling, which means he’s already won the whole fucking thing. He’s yours again, and he’s not going to fuck it up.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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scarletwritesshit · 5 months ago

Text

🛏️ Stelle x Aventurine 🛏️ Last Night

Kakavasha had to prove he was worthy of survival someone. There were numerous other prisoners present just like him: same shackles, same branding, same rags. But not all of them had the same desire to carry on. For many of them, the light had long since left their eyes, and they seemed to have limited awareness of their surroundings.

In their eyes, Kakavasha was probably not much different than the rest of the prisoners. Well, they did make a few snide comments about his gorgeous body, so at least he some qualities to weaponize against them. Though, being pretty alone wasn’t going to get Kakavasha anywhere. He had to have some practical use to them if he wanted a chance. If he managed to catch the eye of someone higher up, he could serve out his purpose in another way. A displeasing thought, but it would at least buy his life some more time.

If only there were no competition. Surely, their latest batch doesn’t exactly look promising, but Kakavasha still had to be wary of what each individual was capable of under pressure.

An option was for him to straight up eradicate any and all competition. Then, with no other options, they would be force to spare him, otherwise, it would be a mission with minimal spoils for the higher ups. Even if he were to be punished for his actions, what’s the worst that they could possibly do? It can’t be any worse than what he would endure on the regular.

It was a gamble, but he would rather die trying than be picked off without a chance. He held up his shackle bound wrists, the only weapon that he had, and studied them fiercely. Better than nothing, he thought. He could use them to suffocate his first unsuspecting victim, and do some hefty damage swinging the metal into their skulls afterwards.

And look, there was a prisoner sitting up and asleep, a prime target for his first victim. It was tempting, so very tempting. He could take out one right here and now with absolutely no competition. He was already fated to stain his hands with blood, so what difference would it make?

The slumped man was either asleep or apathetic. Not like it mattered, as Kakavasha could walk up to him without the victim moving a muscle. He once more held up his wrists and looked at them, quickly taking a deep breath, before wrapping the chain around the man’s neck and yanking him close. He pulled the chains around his neck with all of the might left in his body, cutting off his air and preventing him from screaming. Any harder, and Kakavasha would’ve snapped his neck clean in half. After the man’s body went limp, he let his freshly deceased corpse flop to the ground. Kakavasha gave it a few good kicks in the side to ensure that it was dead.

Now, Kakavasha felt absolutely nothing. He took one life, and any remorse for taking many more was gone. This first step already meant one less person to potentially take away his chance at survival.

Now, he had to do this about thirty more times, which he did with relative ease. Hardly any of them fought back. It could be argued that they were awaiting their death, which only fueled Kakavasha’s rampage further. Others weren’t willing to go down so easily. Some took a few good knocks on the skull to weaken them before Kakavasha could suffocate them. When they would simply not cooperate with suffocation, he gave them a little extra bit of a nudge to speed things up a bit. Said nudge may have entailed snapping a few vertebrae, but whatever got the job done.

A few lives claimed later, and Kakavasha was completely blind to human morals. He cared not for the lives of those he was taking away, just who was going to be his next target. He spiraled into a violently calm killing rampage, completely unaware of anything outside of his next victim. Kakavasha’s negligence for his surroundings caused him to be struck with a sudden blow to his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs.

Aventurine’s eyes shot open. His body physically felt asleep, but he had enough feeling left to be aware of a weight on his chest restricting his breathing. His face felt disgustingly sweaty.

An all too familiar feeling.

Thank the Aeons he wasn’t actually killed. Though, for a second there, he could’ve genuinely sworn that he made his final gambit.

Feeling slowly returned to his body. He reached out his arm to flick on the lamp to investigate the immense pressure on his chest. First thing he saw lifting himself up were two large gold eyes. The culprit was one of his own snacks. Of course.

The creature stretched towards Aventurine, observing him closely. It must’ve seen him in distress, and made the decision to startle him awake. Aventurine gave the creature a pat on its shell, as he was thankful despite the brief heart attack, then gently nudged it off of his chest.

With his heart rate still elevated, Aventurine didn’t have any hope for returning to sleep. He turned off his light and attempted to regardless, but he remained wide awake. He turned over to see that Stelle was fast asleep, undisturbed and unbothered. Aventurine felt as if it would be rude to disturb her, but perhaps a few harsh words from Stelle are what he needed to knock some sense into him and allow him to relax enough to sleep.

He gently nudged himself closer to her and into her side. It was unlikely that he would wake her from this alone, as Stelle was a heavy sleeper, evident by her drooling mouth and deep snoring.

"Stelle," Aventurine said, shaking her shoulders gently.

She didn’t say anything, as she, only snorted louder. Aventurine was going to have to be a bit more forceful to wake her up.

"Hey, Stelle," he said, shaking her more forcefully.

After a few grumbles and moans, Stelle flopped onto her side to face Aventurine.

"Eruhghhhh...whaaat?" she grumbled.

"I....can’t sleep."

"Can’t you make yourself some tea or something," she said, still not fully aware of Aventurine’s predicament.

"I guess I could, but..."

Stelle stretched her arm out to turn on the lamp on her nightstand. Her hair was a mess and the bags under her eyes were large, making her look like a raccoon that had just climbed out of a trashcan. She rolled back over to see Aventurine, noticing how sweaty and disheveled his appearance was.

"...Oh," she said, finally waking up to his situation, quite literally.

"Y-you see, Miss Stellaron, I sort of-"

"No no, it’s okay, Aven, you don’t need to explain," she said.

She flopped her arms around Aventurine, weakly attempting to pull him closer. It was the best a half-asleep woman could do, but she meant well nonetheless. Aventurine slid himself closer into her arms, unable to resist her hold at a time like this. Though her arms were still weak from being half asleep, she attempted to gently stroke Aventurine’s back to soothe him back to sleep.

“It’s okay, Aven. You’re here…with me…”

Stelle didn’t last very long, as she drifted back to sleep within minutes. Her arm went limp while still draped around Aventurine’s back, feeling like a ragdoll was now resting on his side. Her efforts were at least enough to soothe Aventurine’s troubled heart, but he still remained rather awake. With her lazily holding onto him now, Aventurine had no choice but to stay in bed. His legs were pinned down to the bed by at least one of his snacks anyways. At least now that he was feeling a little more down to earth, he could make an attempt to fall back asleep. Even if he couldn’t, there isn’t anywhere else he would rather be right now. He had it all, between being lazily trapped by Stelle and pounced on by three annoyingly nocturnal critters. It was far better than anything he’s had, though that wasn’t saying very much.

At least he never has to return to that past, no matter how often his mind attempts to delude him into thinking so.

#avenstelle #hsr aventurine #stelle #honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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majaloveschris · 6 months ago

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Hi Maja.

First of all, your blog is one of the only ones I’ve always felt was sincere, on point, respectful, and not toxic. I’ve always had a good feeling about you and how you are kind despite all the toxicity on here.

That feeling has never wavered and there is a big part of me that wants you to be right and win against these ridiculous anons that seem to want to put you down.

An opinion (which I don’t claim to be fact, just some thoughts here): I see a lot of takes on here popping up from blogs that claim they have PR knowledge and claim to be experts and read and follow along the gossip, but I think nobody really knows and they can only hypothesize on what they think is the truth.

I think CE being married (by public knowledge and Wikipedia) was the main goal here. I’ve always sort of felt this, which is why I ultimately was not surprised after he did his SMA spread that he went public with Fish girl and then later on “got married.”

The reason I say this is because HW and society is very judgmental and superficial. Being single or unmarried at a certain age always raises questions whether or not it is valid to do so. I disagree with this sentiment but unfortunately the world is how it is. It happens to regular people, so why wouldn’t it apply to celebs? Especially the ones who have basically become a pop culture icon of being an eligible bachelor/desirable.

Let’s think about this. After 2019, CE was no longer under the marvel umbrella. He had to start defining his post marvel career, and then Covid hit. So many things derailed. He randomly got an IG in 2020 but people found out it had existed as an account since 2019. Perhaps it was always the plan or it was a plan hatched by his PR team to keep him in the public eye. He became relatable internet BF with a Prince Charming storyline of when will he find the one? It was almost overkill from 2020-2022.

Now it’s 2024 and he’s supposedly been with this woman since 2021. It shows longevity and then eventual commitment. He now wears a ring in public so they see him as “settled down.” That’s the image he is now portraying for the public who doesn’t dig or care to deeper in his life.

I don’t think it’s about rebranding to attract a younger audience - if so, his pr team would have realized that gen Z actually does not fare well to age gaps and the subject of grooming and etc always comes up for this hypersensitive on PC/wokeness generation. Then add on the racism and weird ass crap from her/her friends. Definitely not boding well for a generation that lives on the internet and knows how to deep dive. His PR team would have looked at how the public reacted to other relationships like this and I feel, if it was simply he was in love with her and it was real real, would have told him to keep it on the DL DL until it was absolutely certain they had walked down the aisle. At that point, there would be no turning back.

But they marketed this before that happened. They wanted to portray her as the one similar to how in movies, they want to portray a main character and love interest as meant to be even if the audience may or may not receive it that way. How many times do we hear “this movie tanked because the leads had no chemistry and the relationship they wanted us to believe was not believable?”

But ultimately, the endgoal of if CE and his wife are a good couple or not doesn’t really matter. They have achieved their goal of he is now settled down and no longer on the market. If you choose to continue to follow him, stay for his career and not his personal life. Meanwhile, her - well, they’ll keep trying to make her happen because her end of the deal was getting more visibility and breaking into the American market. That much has been clear.

But you can lead a horse to water, you can’t make it drink.

What she chooses to do with the opportunities given to her are left to be seen. Also, how the public and CE/her fanbases chooses to receive them are also left to be seen.

Will this marriage last forever? I have doubts. But I do think they considered many options and this is what they came up with. I also don’t believe CE’s actions show he is very happy with the arrangement, even less so than fish is. Because even from the subtle clues from photos and “videos” - body language does not lie.

To be fair to fish, I doubt she’s in love with him either. I think she’s getting more benefits from this because most of the negativity is being directed towards him, not her. His fans hating and harassing her are just a pinnacle of what he’s receiving from his own fanbase. Some people will disagree with me but he’s the one getting the P and G and disgusting comments and being called the worst person on earth because he married her. His own fans are turning on him and her fans can also blame him but victimize her. The general public doesn’t care too much but will say how he looks because he got with her. She remains “innocent” of any blame because at the end, she is young and he is older so he should know better. Do you see what I mean?

Meanwhile, her fans are just happy she’s getting attention and somebody to fund her poor attempts at becoming a fashion icon. She lacks in talent and work ethic but it’s an easy way for her to get engagement by being attached to him.

The day this ends and she no longer has his name will be interesting and that’s what I think his fans (remaining) are hoping for. They don’t want to reward laziness and clout chasing opportunist and I too support this. They want HIM to be better and find success and love himself more so he doesn’t continue to end up in these shitty situations. But again, he has to want that for himself. He has to want to deserve better so he can work on actually deserving of better.

I hope I didn’t offend anyone with this opinion. Just my thoughts and I support YOU. I hope things work out in the end in your favor because you are a great person and I selfishly want you to be right (haha). ❤️

I completely agree with everything that you wrote down.

I remember seeing people criticize him for saying he wants to get married and have a family, yet he is still single and childless. As you said, it's stupid that people are being bullied and judged because they haven't already settled down, even if they wanted to. Finding a partner is hard, and finding a partner in his shoes is even harder. I obviously don't know whether he actually wants all of that, but saying he must not want all of that because he didn't do so is not right. A lot of people struggle with finding a good partner.

I never agreed with people calling him by the P and G words. I guess these people either don't know what those words mean or are simply that mad as Chris that they feel the need to spread lies. He is not those things and never was. Yeah, 16 years is a lot, but she was a grownup when they allegedly met, and I think people exaggerate when they say she looks like a child.

I think the reason most people are hateful towards him is because they are disappointed in him. I think most people had an idea about the person he is based on the information we had, and him being married to someone like her or even dating someone like her doesn't really fit into that. People aren't disappointed in her because most didn't even know who she was before Chris. We were just presented with her actual self, and we didn't have any expectations from her. But we had for him.

I doubt either of them is in love with each other. Alba doesn't seem that happy or comfortable around him either. I think this is just business for both of them.

I still think he is a good man who made a terrible mistake. I just hope the best for him, to be honest, which I know is an unpopular opinion now because it seems like wanting the worst for him is what is trendy nowadays. Maybe I'm naive; maybe I'm just holding onto an image, but I don't think the last 20+ years were a lie. I hope he will prove me right.

Thanks for writing this down and for being there. ♥

#majaloveschris #chris and alba pr #cevans-love

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verystrxxwberry · 5 months ago

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hi there! ok, my request might be a bit strange, but: what would the guys in moonlight lovers be like as modern young people? i mean., knowing the seven adults who are in the age range from 30 to 2380 y/o, their personalities, styles and how they relate to each other, let's change the canon. 8 university students (including MC), living together in a dorm, studying different majors.

what do they study? how do they dress? what kind of young people are they? what are their tastes? i'm intrigued by the youth version of Vladimir, Neil or Aaron in the 21st century. i ask it as headcanons, but if you are more comfortable with an OS, whatever💗!

thanks in advance

MOONLIGHT LOVERS university AU

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: sfw, only routes (except Neil, I have a curse against him it seems…), routes living the 21st century, they’re humans, pics of the outfits, long!! ↝ 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: It’s not a strange request! I genuinely found it pretty cool and I have lots of ideas for this. I hope it is entertaining and you like it! I did it in a general way, both in University and also their normal lives in the 21st century, in headcanons.

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

AARON

Before going to university, he was just a regular student who passed stuff but without being brilliant at it. That’s fine for him, he didn’t want to get straight A’s but he didn’t want to fail either. He just wanted to do what he enjoyed.

His grades on math, history and sport are effortlessly good, getting all A’s. But that’s why he likes practical stuff instead of those subjects that have a lot of theory to memorize. History is an exception for him though. He likes to learn about past times.

It's canon already that his handwriting is a mess, but not only that, his notes ARE a mess.

When he reached university, he decided to study something that allowed him to be practical and to memorize less theory. This man loves both human and animal biology. He loves animals. That’s why he was raised with a few dogs who he took care of with all the love of his life. So he decided to study in a Veterinary school to specialize to be a veterinary surgeon.

He doesn’t like seeing animals in pain, and more than once during the practices he had to leave the room because it was too much for him to see an animal in pain.

Aaron is good with animals and has all the patience when it comes to stand the smelly and noisy environments of farm animals (because veterinary surgeons are usually the ones in charge of diagnosing and treating domestic pets, farm animals, zoo animals and horses). He also knows how to keep animals calm and expects to be attacked more than once as they are also nervous living beings.

He had to move from the camp to a dorm in the city to be near that vet school and do his 5 or 6 years of major, which he achieved to do for his passion in healing and taking care of animals.

In that dorm he got really close to Raphael and Vladimir since they two were calm and had a lot of interesting stuff to talk about with Aaron. He also got along with Ivan since he sometimes needed help with math or other subjects (also some life advice). With Beliath things got slightly different and he got a mate to go drink with after work since they worked in the same restaurant for a few months.

To pay the rent and also his own needs he got to work in several places.

His job career started by working in a restaurant, in which he worked for a few years. The first years living in the dorm he worked with Beliath in another restaurant, as mentioned before, but he decided to change and work in an Ikea after it.

He’s a big fan of music and some mythological literature. And when he gets to see some shows on Netflix thanks to Ethan, he becomes obsessed with Blood of Zeus (same). They all pay for Netflix together, the ones who use it at least.

About music… I hc he likes imagine dragons, hozier, adele, abba and glass animals. He got some influence from Ivan and Ethan and started liking Avenged Sevenfold, even if it’s not the kind of music he’d actually listen to.

He is the taxi driver for Ivan, Raphael and Vladimir.

He doesn’t use his phone too much, and ALWAYS has the volume on. He doesn’t know how to use social media, only twitter and only because Ivan showed him. He is a dry texter and probably uses the thumbs up emoji 98% of the time.

He has a simple style and doesn't put much effort on it, as long as it is comfortable for him. He doesn't really like colorful stuff to wear.

BELIATH

This guy had to repeat a whole year of high school because he didn't put his effort at all. He wanted to have fun instead, making friends and going to parties, so he skipped classes to go somewhere with Ethan and other people, or maybe he was simply going through a terrible hangover.

He is the kind of guy who is effortlessly smart but has no interest since he finds studying boring. He is too good at biology and physics though. When he repeated the year, he started getting very good grades at those two subjects because he decided to put in a little bit of effort just because Ethan motivated him. He basically got told “if you don't get a job of something you do enjoy, you will be enslaved in a restaurant and will suffer.”

Every challenge for him is accepted. So he will search for a restaurant or bar to work in to challenge himself. He would meet Aaron there and after it go to get some beers after their night switch.

He worked in a nightclub but got kicked after flirting with his customers. Sigh…

His grades were mainly Bs but he got As on biology thanks to his big knowledge<3.

He got stressed when he had to pick a career and didn’t really have it sure, he just decided to study something related to biology and did deep research to see what was more amusing for him. So he decided to pick simply biology, and then end up working as a pharmacologist, which seemed interesting and not so hard for him.

Still, he did not finish the major because he got tired of the same routine. Then he dropped but begged Vladimir to stay in the dorm now that he found a little family to live with.

He knew Ethan from the same work and thanks to Aaron they both could get into the dorm due to the need of being somewhere close to the universities where they did study.

Beliath loves to travel a lot and whenever he has a holiday, he goes on spontaneous trips to other cities or countries. He definitely has been to Spain, Poland, Finland, Italy, Norway and Germany. He aims to travel further and visit other continents as well. He would love to go to Canada and Australia.

He is a big Lady Gaga fan and has gone to concerts of her. His insta stories were a big evidence of how he yelled and vibed to it. Next day he had no voice.

He also likes Britney Spears, Bad Omens, Melanie Martinez, Michael Bublé, Childish Gambino, Ricky Martin…

He is always calling for taxis, and definitely late to everywhere he has to go.

He is pretty obsessed with his phone to send tiktoks and shit to Ethan. His messages are good to understand, he uses the typical :) and :P, uses lol and lmao a lot and definitely answers to stuff with memes… cringe memes… Ivan teases him for that…

Has a very well organized spotify for each mood of his day. And he has NO shame in putting up nasty ahh songs every time he showers and sing them out loud.

He posts suggestive pics on twitter… yet his instagram is very friendly. He still receives flirty messages from people because he is always handsome in his pics. He posts the worst pics he has of Ethan too though.

He probably has an onlyfans.

Big eurovision fan.

Casual yet formal and attractive.

VLADIMIR

He had to put effort on classes no matter what since his family was pretty strict with that topic. Still, he developed the habit of using his free time to study something so he didn’t forget the topics and he was able to understand the lesson better. He even went to a language academy thanks to his parents, where he discovered a big passion for learning languages. He started with French and then learnt Spanish, Portuguese, Polish, German, Italian… and he definitely knows a little bit of Russian and Arabic.

The subjects he enjoyed the most were English literature, history and language. He got all As except in sport, since he has had a weak physical condition since young.

Deep inside he never wanted to focus all his time on studying, yet he obeyed his parents. He didn’t plan on going to college and he was forced to get into a computer science major since it is the most advantageous university major. But he did NOT like it at all.

Even if in this AU he has grown in the technology century, he still does not like it at all, even if he owns a phone. He owns it, but never uses it.

Even though he comes from a rich family, he decided to produce his money from a very young age with the idea of being independent sooner. He worked as a dog walker, as a teacher for younger kids that needed help with school, as someone to take care of the gardens of his neighbours… And thanks to this last job, he found out how much peace he got from being surrounded by flowers.

As soon as he turned 18, he moved into a dorm and searched for more roommates so the rent was cheaper and he didn’t have to explode himself that much. That’s how he met the other guys.

He didn’t finish the computer science major, he didn’t want it at all. He changed then into a horticultural science degree which he enjoyed the most and really had him in a good mood instead of studying something he didn’t like at all. During the years of the degree he achieved to open a flower shop in the city!

It was notorious the amount of effort and excitement he put into his small business, which helped him for the economy. His flower shop is really well organized by types of flowers and their colors, then he has a section for medicinal and legal herbs, and a section of tools for gardening. He also made a catalogue for those spiritual people who believe in the meanings of each flower (and he explained it truly well in there).

After the major, he went to a small course of herbs and then, once he was bored of not doing anything, he decided to do a major in a literature major, which he also truly enjoyed.

He has gone on small trips with Beliath… and not because he was going to enjoy the company of Beliath, but because he wanted to see the world.

Aaron, Raphael and him traveled to Egypt and enjoyed it a lot. Vladimir received a lot of calls from Ivan because Ethan and Beliath were making chaos in the dorm… He made video calls with Ivan to explain what they did on the day, just like a father-son relationship.

He has a blog where he writes his own self, expressing himself through writing. With this I mean that he posts poems and short narrative stories. He is planning to write a book :). But he also does book and movie reviews! Because he only likes seeing movies whenever Ethan, Aaron or Ivan are going to (as long as it isn’t terror).

He has his own garden in the dorm and had to argue Ethan a lot to avoid getting weed plants in his PRECIOUS garden.

He likes classical music and jazz, not rock or noisy stuff. He likes Mitski, Amy Winehouse, some songs of beabadoobee and not much from the actual era. He prefers classical playlists that can be easily found on youtube…

Whenever he texts someone, it seems more like a letter from the 15th century than a casual message.

He keeps his style as formal as he can, no matter the context. He doesn't even care if his dressing code seems old for the century, he likes it and that's what matters.

RAPHAEL

As he grew up, he wasn’t a blind kid, so he had the chance to see the world around him and find out his passion for art. He is a person that truly does admire the effort of artists, writers and musicians. So even if everything in school went well for him, literature and art subjects always went good for him due to the extra passion he placed on it.

He begged his parents to get classic books to read and some of them mainly focused on art, finding a true devotion for art history.

He was a big fan of Raffaello Sanzio, getting some of his paintings in his bedroom such as The School of Athens. He also got some paintings to decorate the walls of his bedroom such as The Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh, Mystic Nativity by Botticelli…

He really wanted to study art history and be able to teach people about historical paintings. Not only that but he went to an academy to learn deeply about the methods to paint on canvas, since he also liked that kind of stuff. He sold his own paintings for not much money, but simply to get something. He even did some commissions to people around him that needed it.

Raphael has an old twitter account where he posted his art and offered commissions to others.

since in this AU vampires aren’t seen, I’m gonna change a little bit of his canon history. In this AU, the way Raphael got blind was due to a car accident on a trip with his friends, where Margarita was human and she unluckily died.

He went to university late since he decided to first recover from the emotional shock and the depression he got sinked in. After it he decided to learn braille, and luckily he didn’t find it so hard, so he needed only weeks to be able to read, even if it was at a slow pace. He devoured braille books thanks to this, so it was a plus that he got to finish some books he had on his list since long ago.

He wanted to do something with his life that wasn’t simply reading in braille and being careful whenever he went outside to not get hurt.

If he couldn’t see and analyze more paintings, thing that saddened him, he could rely on the musician side of him. He decided to focus on his musician side and improve his skills, now that his hearing would be the most developed sense in his body after touch.

He decided to get into a major in music theory and composition, where he was able to express himself thanks to music.

Thanks to Ivan he was able to find out about audiobooks, so whenever he decided to lie down and rest, he heard an audiobook of any book Vladimir told him about. He also listens to podcasts and some of them about philosophy, which he finds truly interesting.

He likes soft music such as jazz, something that is calm and it isn’t too loud for him.

Every time he goes out with Aaron and Vladimir, he takes a grip in any of their arms to not get lost. Then they three go to drink a coffee and talk about some stuff related to their lives.

He is the therapist friend… If you want a school motivation speech, he knows how to give it properly. He is good at teaching other people, listening to them and advice them.

To pay the rent he luckily got to work in a library, which he loved as it was almost always quiet. But years later he got to do his own compositions and thanks to Ivan, post them on some platforms to get money from his effort!

Vladimir would hire him in his shop :3

We know he is a sweetheart, so he gets along with everyone in the dorm, adapting to their likes. Whenever Ethan watches crime documentaries, he listens to it with all the attention.

He owns a phone but doesn’t use it, only to answer the calls of others.

When Vladimir or Beliath go to buy some clothes, he always asks them to pick something nice yet comfortable for him to wear in home. He definitely has the cutest style of all of them.

ETHAN

He is a regular student with regular grades who barely puts effort on it but never fails. He is the clown classmate, and many people can’t stand him, but he is smart. During class he puts attention only on those stuff he finds interesting, which is biology and maths. He dislikes history but is really good at it.

He skipped some classes to go smoke something with his group of friends or to go gossip somewhere with Beliath.

He put effort the last year before university just because he started finding interest in being a doctor thanks to some shows he watched on Netflix. So he was pretty clear on choosing a major in medicine.

And he achieved it! He surprisingly put a lot of effort on it because he wanted to take good advantage of those years. But that doesn’t stop him from going to a party and having an exam the next day…

Still, he was passionate about the idea of being a doctor, so he tried pulling for jobs in hospitals mainly. The first years there was no response, but later he managed to get into a hospital as a clinical radiologist. He often took pics of some broken bones of his patients and sent them to Ivan or Beliath… (ivan is traumatized)

He goes to parties with a black eyeliner which makes him fucking gothic n handsome because he loves it. He isn’t an edgy like Ivan, he is just a low level of punk. He loves to wear rings and a unique dressing code.

He has a spotify playlist with anime openings which he vibes to. And it is thanks to Ivan actually.

Ethan worked as a delivery man for certain companies before being a clinical radiologist, as he knows how to drive a motorcycle.

Definitely dyed his hair several times.

Loves to take the guys to Finland so they can go skiing whenever they are bored. He loves adrenaline and those adventures which makes him feel it constantly.

He absolutely adores crime documentaries and terror movies.

He has a few tattoos around his body, and some of them were even made when he went to some parties. He won’t have many tattoos that actually mean something to him.

During his free time he plays some of the games he has on steam, and you can also tell that the soundtrack of any game or movie he likes, will be on his playlist. He has a small library on steam and the games which have more hours are definitely risk of rain 2, terraria and devil may cry. Even though he plays lethal company with Ivan and other friends. He simply pays for those games he knows he will like.

Loves slipknot, glass animals, the neighbourhood, onerepublic… and basically anything that has him humming the melody afterwards.

His twitter is filled with memes and definitely things that will get him into a cancellation thread… he has to learn to shut the fuck up more often.

His instagram is made in revenge to Beliath, where he posts the worst pics of him. He has no fear in posting funny videos with Ivan, Aaron, Beliath and other friends. Even though he got scolded by Vladimir when he heard that Ethan posted a video of Vladimir talking to his roses in the garden and writing on a corner “he’s becoming psychotic”.

Probably opens a youtube channel to post vlogs, paranormal videos in which he goes to explore random places, tasting weird food…

IVAN

He is the kind of student who sometimes puts his effort but unluckily doesn’t get the grade he expected. He isn’t the best student, but he isn’t the worst. He hates the idea of needing the help of others to understand some subjects, but at the end he feels like he doesn’t know anything after studying almost all the noon.

He was mostly late to class and that was because of Loic and him going to parties as teens (Constance joined most of times, yeah…), so he had hangover most of the times. Luckily that only was his teen years until he met Ethan near his campus and got a new friend group. Even if Ethan dragged him to parties, it was a way more healthy than with Loic and Constance.

His best grades were mainly on language and technology, maths and other shit were much lower than he ever expected. Still, he decided to do something he was more excited about: studying a major in computer science.

Even though the first months he found it difficult to be organized and did see it as a must, he learnt to like what he was doing and he became really passionate about the practical part.

It was currently something interesting for him as he was in constant touch with computers, a thing that he truly enjoyed.

He worked in a McDonald’s to pay the rent, and thanks to his knowledge through the years on the major, he was able to work in one of those stores where you can fix your computer and stuff. He enjoys it and he knows how to set up a computer piece by piece.

Edgy and freaky tastes in music huh. He goes from my chemical romance, slipknot, deftones, mindless self indulgence to The living tombstone, some k-pop groups (I need to make someone like aespa in here, but he also is an og EXO fan), and game soundtracks…

His steam acc is definitely filled with games, and some of them haven’t been touched yet. He spent all of his credit card in most parts of the games… (He is proud even if Vladimir and Aaron aren’t)

He is also an emo with his dressing code. 2010 emo vibes but modern at the same time… Vladimir has to scold him every now and then so he can wear something decent and regular to go to public spaces, but he doesn't actually have formal clothes actually… only the job ones..

He is a big jojo fan. He made Ethan and forced Aaron to watch jjba. He is always talking about jojo references and everyone around him see him as a weirdo -he is-

Bro is obsessed with brawl stars.

His twitter is filled with literally shitpost, just as his instagram.

He and Ethan decided to share the youtube channel so both of them had the chance to do their craziness ft. Beliath around there.

✰; remember to reblog and like to support my content, I hope you enjoyed it!

#: ̗̀➛ alex's ml hcs!#moonlight lovers #moonlight lovers headcanons #ml headcanons #ml hcs #moonlight lovers aaron #moonlight lovers beliath #ml #moonlight lovers raphael #moonlight lovers ivan #moonlight lovers ethan #moonlight lovers vladimir #moonlight lovers fluff #sfw #ml scenarios #beemoov

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monodramatic-cannibal · 3 months ago

Text

Renegade!Killer

Info post about the au

(If characters seem OOC ((Out Of Character)) it's beacause I'm going off of my own interpretations/headcanons/fandom versions. So please be aware of that)

More info under the cut (Info is subject to change at any time. Info may be added to as well)

(TW: Mentions of murder)

-Jobs in the group: Protection of the base, fighting Wraiths, scouting, hunting

Weapons of choice: large kitchen knife/machete, throwing knives, any gun he can get his hands on

-Head canon voice: ???

-Not similar to canon/og!Killer. Renegade!Killer doesn’t have stages really, he does have some form of interaction with a Chara though.

-Goes by any pronouns, mainly uses He/Him as his default one though. Is asexual.

-Went to prison and when the apocalypse hit he escaped with Dust. Just decided to kill people for shits and giggles, was bored of his own life so thought he would do something more entertaining with it. Was slightly influenced by his Chara to do this.

-As a teen he was also arrested for arson, so it’s not like it was his first time being arrested when he killed people.

-Tried to attack Dust when they first broke out of prison. Dust kicked his ass though, but didn’t kill him. Since he had nothing better to do he decided to tag along with Dust. In which they became good friends.

-Found a phone that has an Alex G playlist on it, has basically made it part of his personality. It’s not like they find that many phones with ‘good’ music on them. Well music that he likes. So he treasures this phone. He had never heard of Alex G before the apocalypse.

-Loves pulling pranks on anyone he can, or joining Ink in doing something stupid. Often gets told off by Nightmare for doing those things. But he won’t stop unless he gets threatened with some sort of consequences.

-Before joining the group, Nightmare was the one in the group that said to give him a chance. Nightmare got put in charge of him after that, but Nightmare had made it clear to him that he can do his own thing, as long as no one is harmed. Though due to the pranks Nightmare has to step in now and then.

-Forgets to take care of himself half the time, often having others remind him to do things, such as Horror reminding him to eat.

-Doesn’t feel emotions too often, when he tends to feel emotions more intensely his eye sockets have his eye lights appear.

-Soul always hovering in front of his chest, he can’t explain why, he doesn’t remember when it happened. Just always remembers it being there since he was a teen.

-Finds it hard to care about things, so unless someone somehow managed to become a friend of his, everyone else he doesn’t care about. Even then if your a friend he may find it hard sometimes to care. Also has no sense of danger due to not caring. Understands when he shouldn’t mess with someone/something, but anything else he doesn’t really have a sense of danger for.

-He is a flirty person, but never takes it seriously. He may flirt with people then insult them in the same sentence. Tends to insult people who take his flirting seriously. He just finds it fun to do, having others question his actions and just seeing others get confused. It’s one of the least chaotic ways he will mess with someone.

-Has to wash his clothing on the regular due to the liquid coming from his eye sockets. And the fact he tends to use his clothes to wipe away these tears.

-Sometimes the tears/liquid in his eye sockets can blur his vision slightly, so sometimes struggles to see things. This is particularly bad if he has to read something.

-Good at remembering completely useless information, always says ‘You never know if it will be useful’. Has probably had one or two situations where this information is actually useful and has been smug about it.

-Despite his boots having laces on them, he doesn’t actually know how to tie laces properly, just tends to tie them into an awkward knot and pray for the best. Sometimes he may bother Nightmare to tie them for him.

-Adore’s Horror’s cat, Fig. He originally wanted Fig, but both Nightmare and Horror said he’d not take care of Fig properly. It annoyed him slightly, but he can’t complain too much, he’s with Horror most of the time anyway so gets to see Fig every day.

-Will bite people if they put limbs too close to his mouth. Has bitten Dust, Horror and Nightmare before, also tried to bite Cross but Cross reacted too quickly for him.

-Will steal Horror’s and Dust’s clothes sometimes. Acts oblivious to it when they try to say anything to him. Can also steal Nightmare’s oversized hoodies because they’re a normal size on him. Nightmare doesn’t give any reaction to it.

-Often carries a knife around with him, the only time he actively puts it somewhere out the way is when he’s interacting with Fig.

How they feel about:

Nightmare: Likes him, thinks Nightmare is fun to be around when Nightmare is in a joking mood. Is often the one finding cat related clothing to give to Nightmare. Also tends to pick Nightmare up a lot, treating him like a teddy bear since Nightmare doesn’t complain about it.

Dream: Only really tends to see Dream when Dream comes to hang out with Nightmare. Has picked up on the fact Dream is unsure of him. He never makes an effort to befriend Dream though, or calm his worries. Finds it funny to try to make Dream uncomfortable, e.g. staring at him for too long. At least till Night tells him to knock it off.

Cross: Thinks it’s fun to mess with Cross, especially when it’s something involving Night. Thinks it’s hilarious when Cross gets super protective over Night, cause it annoys Night as well, two birds with one stone. He’s chill about Cross, but just thinks his reactions to things are funny. Was one of the ones with Cross when Cross had screamed about the cow statue, doesn’t let him live it down and often hides cow related things in Cross’s room.

Blue: Can get along with Blue from time to time, but also likes to insult him for no reason. He doesn’t interact with Blue enough to have a proper opinion on him.

Ink: Can get along with Ink when it comes to pranks and joking around. And other time Killer isn’t that fond of them. Only finding them fun when they have something planned.

Dust: Sees him as a good friend, can crack jokes with him and lets Dust cling to him when they’re doing things together. He’s seen Dust’s face when they were in prison together. Has never mentioned Dust’s face to anyone though mainly out of respect for Dust, and also he doesn’t want Dust to kick his ass over it.

Horror: Likes Horror, sees him as a good friend. Often tells jokes and stuff to Horror, sometimes tries to rope Horror into his pranks that he does, but Horror never has any of it wanting to stay out of it. Horror normally makes sure that he’s okay, and makes sure he’s fed. Knows Horror struggles to read a situation, so he tends to announce the mood of a room, partly to annoy the others in the room and partly to let Horror know the mood of the room. Knows Horror is a murderer.

Error: Has tried to poke Error’s shoulder and face a few times, normally gets attacked by the strings. He doesn’t really mind Error just finds it fun to mess with him. When around Nightmare he does chill out with annoying Error, since Nightmare doesn’t want to be breaking up a fight.

Lust: Lust treats him with respect, so he gives Lust some respect back, still will prank Lust now and then but doesn’t mind Lust. Knows Lust gets along with Horror, Dust and Nightmare, so since his friends like Lust he will play nice.

Fell/Edge: Only tends to run into him whenever he’s following Nightmare around. Fell is always on edge around him, he doesn’t really care though. Just finds it funny. Doesn’t really have an opinion of him.

Geno: Doesn’t really run into him that often and normally Geno ignores him. Doesn’t really have an opinion of him.

Outer: Talks to Outer often, normally when Outer is on the roofs on a night. He tends to be chill around Outer. Outer was wary of him at first but after a few interactions they get along. He’s unsure if he’d consider Outer a friend or not. But does enjoy the peace he gets when he hangs out alone with Outer.

Sci: No real opinion of him, other than he’s the only one in the group he isn’t allowed to prank. Knows he should respect him, but he only gives Sci the bare minimum. Knows Sci is the reason he can stick around but he just doesn’t care about that.

Reaper/Death: Has talked to him two times before. Has no opinion of him. Did try to throw a knife at him which Reaper caught, will watch Reaper and Dust play board games, but that's really the extent of their interactions.

Fresh: Not met him before. Did hear about him from Dust though which made him ask around about who Fresh is. Since no one really knows that much about Fresh he’s determined to fight Fresh if he ever sees him.

Gans/Echo: Forgets this dude exists, since Echo doesn’t leave the radio room too much. No opinion on Echo other than he's a chill guy. Echo doesn’t have much reaction to his pranks, so tends not to prank Echo as much as the others.

Chief: Chief is always yapping at him to get him out of certain areas, doesn’t really mind Chief, but doesn’t like how Chief thinks he can boss him around. Will sometimes do things Chief says not to do out of spite.

#monoart #monos art #digital #art #digital art #undertale au #undertale sans au #underverse #sans au #Killer #killer sans #Renegade!Killer #Renegade ref #Renegade refs #Renegade au #Renegade #Renegade info #ref #reference

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emchant3d · 2 years ago

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Happy Valentine's Day!! Have some steddie angst where Eddie forgets about the holiday entirely 🥰 this is part 1!

Eddie would like it on record that he is a really good fucking boyfriend.

He takes Steve out, gets him flowers, brings him shiny rocks and snail shells that he thinks are interesting. He cooks for him. He lets him pick the movie for movie night more often than not.

All in all, he's damn good to Steve. Attentive. Caring. Loving.

But none of that means shit when he sits down after a long day at work to do some DnD planning, well after 9 pm, writes the date in the corner of the page, and then sits and stares at it for a solid minute.

February 14.

"FUCK."

It started on Friday, not that Eddie was aware of it.

He knows it’s February. He knows Valentine’s is coming up. He knows his baby is a romantic, knows he needs to plan something, he’s excited to plan something. But Valentine’s is, like, mid-February. He has time, right? So much time. He’s not sure what today’s date is, but there’s definitely time.

“Hey,” Steve says, and he’s got that fond, sweet little smile tugging at his lips, and Eddie can’t help but smile right back.

“Hey yourself,” he says, though he knows Steve was just trying to get his attention. He leans in, brushing his lips against Steve’s. His baby laughs, smiling against his mouth, but he pulls away before Eddie’s ready for him to.

“When are you free on Tuesday?” Steve asks, and Eddie’s brain stalls for a minute.

He’s never free on Tuesday. Ever since he put his life of crime (see: selling illicit substances to minors and getting himself accused of murder because of it) to an end, he’s been on the straight and narrow. It has some perks, to be sure, and a main one is a regular schedule. He usually works a double on Tuesdays at the record store, and it’s murder being there all day, but he’s confident putting in the work or whatever’s gonna get him that promotion to manager. Manager means salary which means being able to afford rent somewhere, and while his and Wayne’s digs got upgraded as a “sorry you were accused of murder and almost eaten to death” present from the government, he’d still like to be able to get his own place. Privacy is important, after all, especially when he’s seeing somebody like Steve.

Steve grew up in an empty house and never had to learn how to keep quiet, and while Eddie loves to make his boy scream, there are only so many times he can take having to avoid Wayne’s gaze at the breakfast table the next morning.

Point is, Eddie works a lot. Particularly on Tuesdays. Steve knows this, has Eddie’s schedule memorized for the most part, so Eddie’s brows draw together, but he doesn’t frown. His smile stays in place because Steve seems excited about something, and he has to try to let him down easy. It sucks, he hates disappointing Steve, but at least this is out of his control.

“I work late,” he says apologetically, “and then I got some Hellfire planning to do that night before our next session. Sorry, sweetheart.” He keeps his voice gentle and slips his fingers into Steve’s hair as he speaks to soften the blow.

It doesn’t work.

Steve looks confused for a moment, his pretty face scrunching up, his nose curling and his lips turning down, before a sudden and terrible look takes over his face.

Resignation. Disappointment. A flash of hurt, actually, and Eddie’s stomach gives a sharp little twist as Steve pulls away from him.

“Oh.”

It’s the worst sound Eddie’s ever heard in his life, and he’s abruptly off-kilter by it. He’s frantic. Has he forgotten something? Can’t be - their anniversary is in the summer. So is Steve’s birthday, it’s in July, and they’re currently smack in the middle of a good old-fashioned Indiana winter.

But Steve is sounding soft and hurt and disappointed in that way of his where he’s trying so hard to not show it, and Eddie frowns, worried.

“Why?” he asks, reaching for Steve, but Steve abruptly stands.

“No reason,” he says, and he puts his back to Eddie, busies his hands, makes a swift subject change that leaves Eddie twisted around enough that he lets it happen.

Eventually he forgets about the weird moment almost entirely, save for the discomfort twisting in his stomach. But what is he supposed to do? He could try to make Steve talk, but that’d just end in a fight. Steve will talk about it when he’s ready, Eddie’s sure of it. He just needs to be patient with his baby, and that’s the easiest thing in the world.

They go to bed without talking about it, which Eddie doesn’t love. Steve clings tight to him until he drifts off, and Eddie falls asleep with the distinct feeling that he’s missing something huge.

part 2 part 3

#steddie #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steddie drabble #steddie valentine's #I have more planned but we'll see what happens!! for now I have to sleep lmfao

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catsofcalifornia · 5 months ago

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Cinnamon and Lady Catherine from Feral Cat Foundation in Alamo, California

Click here for more information about adoption and other ways to help!

Click here for a link to Feral Cat Foundation's main website.

Cinnamon and Lady Catherine are a bonded pair of fluffy 7-year-old cats. (Might be siblings; we are not sure.) Theirs is a bit of a hard-luck story, and they have some special needs. They’re looking for that special home to help them blossom, so if you think that might be yours, read on!

Six years ago, the two fluffballs were trapped in a retail parking lot as part of a feral cat fixing program. Both seemed pretty feral at first, but with one needing extra medical care and both being so doggone cute, their rescuer just couldn't bear to return them to the parking lot. She kept them at her home and worked with them, seeing substantial progress over time.

Cinnamon is a cute-as-can-be orange male cat. When he first came to us, his tail was dragging on the ground. It was found to have permanent nerve damage and had to be amputated. He didn’t seem to miss it, and has just a cute little nub on his backside now. Cinnamon has developed a sweet, demure and laid-back personality. He has such a lovable begging face when he wants pets, purrs very loudly and looks so serene when he receives them!

After some time in foster care, Cinnamon was noticed straining to urinate and was found to have bladder stones. He had surgery to remove them, and thereafter was placed on a prescription diet formulated to keep the bladder crystals from recurring and forming into stones. Right now he’s primarily eating Hills S/O dry food. (Increasing the amount of wet food would probably be even better if you can.) At any rate, he’s been maintaining on the diet for several years now, and the bladder issue has not recurred. To check up on him, we had an ultrasound done very recently, and the vet found no signs of additional stones forming. So, it’s a good indication that the diet is working as planned and keeping him healthy. The food is easy to obtain, and while it is a little more expensive than regular cat food, it’s not outrageous.

Lady Catherine is a drop-dead gorgeous calico female and Cinnamon’s best buddy. She is shyer than Cinnamon, and would require a good dose of patience as she settles into a new location. Once she gets to know someone, she can be quite friendly, rubbing coquettishly on the cat tree and hoping for a visit. She does blow a bit hot and cold and sometimes just isn’t in the mood at all. We are sure that with more personalized attention, she would continue to blossom further and really get the chance to live her best life.

For convenience since they are roommates, Lady Catherine has been eating the same food as Cinnamon (it doesn’t hurt for her to eat it, even though she doesn’t require it).

What is so much fun about these two, is watching them interact together. They spend most of their time sitting and cuddling together, or sort of weaving around each other with purrs and nuzzles. It is really sweet to see how much they love each other!

A couple years ago, this pair actually did get adopted. Their new dad adored them but tragically, he passed away unexpectedly, and the family called the rescue to come repossess the cats. They had been blissfully happy in the home, and they do not understand why they had to come back to foster care. From this experience, we know Cinnamon and Catherine would need a quiet home with patient person(s) willing to take it slow. It would probably go best to keep them in one room of the house for a month or possibly a couple months until they acclimate. They would not be a good fit for a home with kids or dogs; they have gotten very accustomed to quiet adults. They do get along great with other cats, but of course there is the food requirement so if there are other cats eating other food in the home, you’d need a method to separate Cinnamon for feeding (which certainly is not impossible and we can talk about strategies for this, if that’s your situation).

Both kitties are about 7 years old at this time. I know most people will think this is too old for a new cat… keep in mind however that with proper care, indoor kitties typically live 15-20 years. Cinnamon and Lady Catherine have a whole “ACT TWO” ahead of them! They are special kitties, and so very deserving of that second chance to live their best life. They have been fixed, brought up to date on vaccinations, and tested FIV/FELV negative. They have always done a great job of using the litterbox! There is an adoption donation to the Feral Cat Foundation (an all-volunteer organization, which helped get them out of a bad situation and provided all of their medical care) to help us continue our work with homeless cats. If you would like to meet this fluffy pair or have any questions, please reach out by phone or email!

#cats #california #alamo #adoption #adoptnotshop

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familyvideostevie · 1 year ago

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october ninth

day nine: bradley "rooster" bradshaw a girl who isn’t you hits on rooster at oktoberfest | jealousy (not really), fluff, established relationship | 1.1k

You’re ready for a nap by the fourth bar. The crawl has been going on all afternoon and you got up hours before that, but it seems like being in the Navy gives you an absurd ability to rally.

Bradley’s hand is firm on your lower back as he steers you towards the bar. There are more people at this one dressed for the Oktoberfest theme than the last but everyone in your group is in regular October California attire — jeans and a light top and a flannel, for you. The bars have been hot and crowded so you keep tying it around your waist or handing it to Bradley.

It’s your first crawl with the group — apparently they’ve been doing it for years — but Bradley has been talking about it since before you were even officially together. The usual goal is to go out until everyone has someone to go home with.

Which you are clearly throwing a wrench in as his girlfriend. But he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’s assured you multiple times of the fact.

“It’s exhausting,” he said that morning. “I mean, I don’t even like one-night stands that much.”

“Sure you don’t,” you’d said. He pulled you close in the kitchen.

“Seriously,” he said. “I much prefer a pretty girl to come home to every night. So I can love on her anytime, spoil her, fu—”

“That’s enough, Lieutenant.”

You believe him. Bradley is a good guy and an ever better boyfriend. He dotes on you and in the words of his squad mades is “obsessed and whipped beyond belief.” Not a bad deal from where you’re standing.

“What do you want, babe?” he asks. His arm is now fully around you, hand resting on your hip so you’re in his space and no one can get in yours.

“Water, I think,” you say. “I’m gonna take it outside for some air.”

He looks mildly concerned. “You okay?”

You nod. “Just want a little break.”

The bartender sets down your glass and his beer. “I’ll come,” Bradley says.

“No, I’m okay,” you say again. “Go play darts with Fanboy. I’ll be back in a bit, okay? I just want to sit in a less crowded place.”

His brows are furrowed. “Okay,” he says, dragging out the word. “But if you want to go home, tell me, okay? We’ll go.”

You kiss his cheek, his slight stubble rough under your lips. “I will.”

The bar is crowded so it takes you a few minutes to make your way to the back deck which is…also crowded. But you manage to find a place to perch and sip your water.

The music plays and people chat and cheer and you feel oddly at peace. Probably the beers in your system. Maybe when Bradley wants to go home you’ll nap for a bit and then order food. He’ll ask you to play with his hair and you can watch a movie and stay up late in your post-nap haze and then you can convince him to sleep in tomorrow.

Bradley is the life of the party when there is one and you love that about him. His energy is contagious and you know he loves the attention, but he also likes to do his own thing. He likes routine and quiet mornings and kissing you before he leaves for work and siting on the couch after a long day with your feet in his lap. He buys you flowers and likes to watch you do your skin care as you tell him about your day and he always picks up when you call.

As far as boyfriends go, he’s the best you’ve ever had. And a not-so-small part of you hopes he’s the last.

Thinking about how sweet he is makes you want to be close to him, even if it means wading through a sweaty and loud bar. You want his hand on your hip, his mustache scratchy against your face as he whispers in your ear.

So you head back inside to try to find the group. You spot Hangman first, always the loudest. He’s talking to some girl who looks very pleased to be pressed close to him, her face inches from his as she laughs at something he says.

And then you see Bradley. He’s no longer at the bar, instead at the wall by the door. He’s leaning back on it, no drink in sight, nodding even as his eyes keep moving around the room.

He’s talking to a girl.

Well, a girl is trying to talk to him. They look totally different than Hangman and his new friend — Rooster’s arms are crossed and he’s not ignoring her but he’s not touching her, either.

So you don’t hurry as you go through the bar because, whatever. Your boyfriend is hot and someone is flirting with him. You walk a little faster, sure. But you know the moment he catches sight of you because he stands up straight and grins. He says something to the girl, who looks a little confused, and leaves her mid sentence to meet you in the middle. He reaches for you and manages to grab your bicep to pull you close into a slightly sweaty hug.

“You okay?” he asks. One huge hand cups your face like you’ve been away for hours instead of minutes.

“I’m fine,” you say. You jerk your chin in the direction of the girl he’s abandoned. “I think you left her hanging, Bradley.”

He huffs. His fingers trail down your side and sneak under the hem of your shirt to touch some bare skin. “She’ll survive.”

“Don’t be mean,” you chide. “She seems quite taken with you.”

“I’m not mean!” he says. “I just missed you, is all. You jealous?” He wiggles his brows.

You roll your eyes. “You wish.” He might, actually. When someone flirts with you Bradley usually gets a little handsy, which you think is fun. “But here I am. No need to miss me.”

His eyes are bright and his smile turns soft. “Here you are. Do you want to go home?”

Between the lingering fatigue and your grumbling stomach and the maddening sensation of his fingers on your bare skin, yeah, you do want to go home.

So you nod. “Yeah, I do.” Bradley kisses you right there in the middle of the bar, shocking you a little until you respond just a little, pressing your lips to his firmly in a smile. “What was that for?” you ask when he pulls away.

“God, I’m lucky,” he says. That does not answer your question.

“Bradley.”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just wanted to kiss my girl. I’ll call a car.” He pulls out his phone and taps on it a few times. “5 minutes.”

“Okay.” He pulls you close to him again.

“Guess I have to kiss you until then.” You laugh but allow it.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

#fvspromptober23 #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick fanfiction

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pomegranate-pen · 2 years ago

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Hi iv really enjoyed your lackadaisy writing and was wondering if you’d be willing to write dating headcanons for Mordecai Heller?

He’s one of my favorites atm

A/n: hey everyone!! hope you're all having a good day!!! so a lot fo you requested mordecai dating headcanons, so here it is!! this will probably be the last headcanons I'll do, and I'll now stick to writing scenarios while also my main focus being continuing my fanfics. also going to start making up the plot for the potential rocky fic. though that all may come out in summer, since I'm slowly but surely exam seasons. anyways- hope you all enjoy this!!

Mordecai Heller x gn! reader general

-Mordecai is definitely cold toward you the very first time you meet. He will not speak to you about himself or his interests, he will keep the conversations short and straight to the point and he will not care about a single thing you do, only he will be annoyed when you do a task wrong.

-If you’re a regular of sorts, or someone who will become his partner or co-worker, then you’ll learn a few more bits and information about him and if stayed long enough, you will get a few more lines other than orders about what he feels about a certain subject matter or a few other workers around here (mostly complaints about the Savoy siblings, given how much he has to spend time with them on the daily). even then, he merely considers you an acquaintance. And it will take many years and much more meetings for him to see you as a friend. and when it does happen, it is subtle, but the conversations are more apparent, and your opinion on different matters is valued much more.

-Being his lover, however, will take much longer, and needs a much more deal of spending time and getting to know him. Which can be hard given how closed off he is about his life and past. Despite that, it’s not an impossible task. Rather, it’s made extremely difficult due to Mordecai’s own lack of interest in such things, his trust issues, and a bundled amount of feelings of unworthiness towards such a thing as love. He believes he doesn’t need it nor does he deserve it, and he doesn’t mind either of those.

-However, though his feelings are completely uninterested in such matters, that doesn’t mean he won’t fall for someone, which in this case, becomes you after half a decade or so of being friends with him.

-the first to realize their feelings is most likely you. since Mordecai will first assume that his emotions towards you are just ones out of the care and respect he has for you as a friend. If you realize them, you must keep quiet about them for the most part, since Mordecai won’t really understand why there would be such a feeling harboring between you two, and he must process his own feelings himself before accepting yours. When he does realize them, oh boy, it’s rough. He feels guilty for loving you, because he doesn’t trust himself with any intimate relationship. Given how his friendship went with Viktor, he was already extremely hesitant about the idea of another friend, now, a lover and a partner, someone that he needs to trust and share a part of his life with, and they must do with him, is frightening and confusing to say the least. As said before, he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of such things. And now that he wants it from you, he feels like a villain of sorts. Taking something that doesn’t belong to him in the first place.

-It will take quite a few months for him to accept these feelings of his, almost half a year even. You seriously need to be very patient with him, something that he will appreciate the world of when you do. his confession is short, and straight to the point. Though, a few ticks of stress and anxiousness can be seen in him. For example, his ears are twitching here and then, his tail is flicking up and down in his seat and he cannot for the life of him seem to stare at you in the eye for more than three seconds. His words are quick, and his tone is a bit clumsy for a guy like him. at the end of it, the flicks of his tail are quicker in speed, and now, he’s looking straight at you with a hesitant look, as if he’s regretting the confession already a second after it’s done.

-He’s calmed down and surprised when you do accept his confession, and he’d not know what to do at that point. he’d nod his head, clear his throat, and thank you. “very well then,” his ears twitched a bit. “ I suppose we’d have to…plan a date now?”

-It takes him some time, but with some help from yours, he finds, in his opinion, the true meaning of dating someone. It is not about dates and being over the top like he presumed, yet it is a way of spending time and enjoying each other’s presence, and being loyal to one another for more than anyone else.

-So as you can guess, dates are quite rare. He never sees the point in it, though if you want such an activity to happen every once in a while, perhaps with a bit of pleading and coaxing you’ll get him to begrudgingly get time out of his day to do such things with you. yet, even though he seems annoyed by the entire occasion at first, you find him calm and even smiling at some point the more time you spend with him on the said dates.

His love language is spending time with one another. Though at the start of the relationship, miscommunication will be common, since Mordecai isn't one to speak about his feelings, if you try your best to tackle it healthily, your relationship with him will be all about communication and it will be the very reason why it’s so strong at the end of it all. It also makes him see communication as the most important part of the relationship, so he’s completely honest, brutally so at times.

--The love language he’d like to receive most is the same, though he does get a bit flustered anytime you use words of affirmation and compliment him, then quickly denies your compliments or thanks you for them.

-Not at all a PDA person, nor is he a physically affectionate guy in private either. He doesn’t like physical contact, either finding it too stuffy or too warm for his liking and just not being in much of a mood for it most times. Though, if in a situation you truly seem like you need a warm embrace or a hand to hold, he wouldn’t mind giving that to you, though he’ll be a bit flustered and quiet the entire time while doing so. He wouldn’t ever say this out loud, but his favorite act of affection from you is when you kiss or peck his cheek. It's surprising to him and it makes him melt a bit, being treated with such softness is quite rare in his life, so he doesn’t know what to do when you peck him, but his heart is beating so fast he can’t focus. He could only look at you in shock and touch the cheek you have kissed in instinct. Give him a forehead kiss and you’ll have an extremely quiet Mordecai awaiting you. he’s processing every second of that quick kiss and he’s speechless by how much it moved him.

-Word about your relationship will never spread out, since Mordecai is extremely private about such things. No one realizes you two are dating unless one of you says so. The only ones who do notice by connecting the dots themselves are the Savoy siblings and Viktor.

-Whether you like it or not, information about Mordecai’s family will mostly never be revealed. You’ll most likely just know that he has two sisters, but that is all he will ever tell you. and in fairness, he never tries to force you to speak about yours either, so it’s a mutual agreement at times to just avoid the topic unless it is deemed necessary by a dangerous circumstance to be said.

-He doesn’t have many hobbies, but if you still try to enjoy a few things he does such as reading the same book he has on his shelves, you’ll be met with a cautiously excited and info-dumping Mordecai who starts debates and discussions with you about which part of the books you enjoyed and detested.

-He’ll try to indulge a bit in a few hobbies you have as well, but he’ll probably not get much invested in them. Though, he still sees it as a worthy journey, since in the end you were smiling and excited when explaining things to him.

-Mordecai feels much more comfortable ranting to you than anyone else. So most times when he comes back from work for the day and has a weekend to look forward to, he spends that time drinking tea with you while speaking about anything and nothing that is on his mind. Treat this like it was diamonds in a mine full of charcoal. because not everyone has the luck to meet this side of Mordecai Heller. He’s more expressive when he’s with you, more open with his emotions, which means the level of trust he has with you is most than anyone else’s.

He’ll listen to all your rants and complaints as well, and if needed, he will give honest advice for your problems. Don’t expect any comfort, though. Because he isn't the best one for such things and he makes that clear all the time before you start your rant.

-Wherever you live, whether it's in a separate apartment from his or if you’ve moved in with him, it will be extremely clean. Whether it’s because of his actions or yours, a completely clean and tidied-up house becomes the absolute norm in your life. If you were one who never really cared about those things, well, you will have to at some point for his sake, since he’s always extremely uncomfortable in messy areas.

-Mordecai Heller loves you, but he won’t ever verbally say it. yet, you’ll always know that, because his actions speak much louder than words ever can, and you understand every word he's saying when he’s making tea for you or asking about your day, speaking to you on the daily or just sitting next to you. you know he loves you, and you know he loves you back. and perhaps, that is why this relationship worked in the first place. It will have its hardships, yes, but like any other relationship, it doesn’t mean it won’t have its good moments either.

#lackadaisy mordecai x reader #lackadaisy mordecai #lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy #fanfiction #x reader #headcanons #mordecai heller x reader #lackadaisy mordecai heller x reader

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 9 months ago

Text

When a Tomb Becomes a Womb (Part 1: Rings)

Well, it’s finally happened: I wrote a story for a movie rather than YouTube Egos. (Not that this is gonna become a regular thing, mind you. Lisa Frankenstein just so happened to check all the right boxes for my hyperfixation and brainrot.)

(Disclaimer: While I agree that Creature doesn’t really need an actual name to be a great character, I still decided to give him a headcanon name—which is Callum, since I think it would fit him— just because this entire story is from his perspective. Mentioning his "true," pre-death name just seems logical. Neither of the characters in this story belongs to me. Lisa Swallows and The Creature are the property of Zelda Williams and Diablo Cody.)

(Trigger Warnings: implied murder/death, implied violence, gore/blood, mentions of electrocution and fire, scars, body horror, dismemberment. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

The soil was loose and soft. It yielded to the shovel’s rusty spade quite easily.

Though many emotions were thrumming through Callum’s skull at the moment, surprise wasn’t one of them.

While dark clouds had clogged up the night sky, hiding the stars and moon and bloating with rain that would fall sooner or later, the current season was warm, and so the ground wasn’t too firm.

This plot had only been filled hours ago. This grave was fresh; infinitely fresher than his had been.

By now, Callum estimated that it’d taken at least half a day for him to crawl up through the ground and breach the surface like one of the several worms slithering around inside him.

He hadn’t exactly been in the right headspace to consider it at first; back then, all he’d been able to know was light and electricity and shuddering and pain and. . .Lisa’s words.

Lisa’s words.

The same thing that fueled Callum to escape his tomb was now guiding him to free Lisa from hers, all with the same amount of violent tremors and desperation.

It was poetic, honestly.

Perhaps it would’ve been a bit more poetic if he didn’t have to get so filthy in the process.

Oh, well. He could take care of that later. (Besides, the stains on his clothes were nothing compared to the layers of grime and mold and fungus that had been caked all over him on that first, fateful night.)

Right now, unearthing his beloved without getting caught seemed like a much more important thing to focus on.

His grip was vicelike around the wooden handle as he threw one shovelful after another to the side.

Almost there, Callum thought. (If he could speak, he’d be repeating that mantra in a whisper like his life depended on it. Which. . .well, it logically didn’t, but it technically did. The same went for Lisa.) Almost there.

He’d wanted to take her away sooner. He would’ve been perfectly fine with forcing her family to waste money on a casket. Really, what good was a casket if you buried it empty?

But the distinct lack of a corpse would have just caused more problems. As dense as her family seemed to be, they’d still know that the shiny, glowing box (Lisa had called it a. . .tanning bed? If memory served?) wouldn’t have been capable of reducing a person to ashes no matter how dangerous it was.

He knew she wasn’t dead. Not completely; not truly. Yes, the combination of electrical currents and fire may have worked its horrific magic on her body. . .but that magic just hadn’t followed through altogether as it probably should have.

The way the bed had convinced foreign limbs to function as intended mere minutes after Lisa sewed them onto him. . .the way it had rejuvenated his centuries-dead flesh bit by bit. . .

It had some kind of similar effect on Lisa. The vast majority of her had died, but there was still a strong, stubborn ember of something in her that was very much determined to live.

Callum knew that very well. He’d seen proof of it before being forced to flee from the fire.

But Lisa’s family didn’t. As far as they knew, she was gone and never coming back. So, if she just disappeared before they could bury her, then they’d have an excuse to try and track her down. And if that happened, neither she nor her husband would get another chance. . .

Callum ground his jaw, putting even more force behind the shovel.

The hole grew deeper.

The pile of disturbed earth beside it grew bigger.

The dull, scraping tempo of grave-robbery began to sound like hitching gasps and sobs.

Just as the clouds started ominously humming about their plans for the night, the shovel reverberated after finally, finally, finally striking something much more solid than dirt.

Callum tossed the tool aside in favor of getting down on his knees, now using his hands to clear away a blanket of finer, thinner soil.

He hoped Lisa could hear him digging. (Though if that was the case, then the state of her brain could potentially make her think that the sounds were echoing from somewhere farther beneath her. Which would be. . .less than ideal, as Callum didn’t enjoy the idea of scaring her again. )

Even in his anxiety, he subconsciously shook his head. Lisa had taken him in and repaired him even after being initially terrified. Lisa trusted him, loved him; if she didn’t, then he never would have woken up in the first place.

More time passed, and a soft, cold gleam suddenly manifested in the darkness.

Glossy wood.

The coffin’s upper door.

Callum groped at the edge of it, tugging with all his strength.

An odd, warm feeling skittered up his spine and shook through his ribcage.

A low creeeeaaak rattled through the air as the lid was pried open.

. . .And there she was.

___

Callum had always been a fast learner, and yet he still had no idea what to make of his pulse.

It’d been extremely jarring when he’d first awoken. The days that followed, it was irregular. Sometimes he could feel it, sometimes he couldn’t. It was always soft—following more of a murmur than a steady beat—always irregular, barely there at all.

Right now, however, it both sounded and felt very far away. More present than it had been when he’d performed a highly unorthodox beheading on that stain of a man who’d upset Lisa.

Hell, it almost seemed louder and stronger than it had been on the most recent evening he’d spent with Lisa; the one that saw the two of them embracing and reeling and dreaming together. . .

Everything else was a blur as he brought her to her new bed, carrying her like the bride she was. He had to move slowly, carefully, feeling more anxious and unwieldy than ever.

Well, at least until he laid her down, making sure the pillow offered enough support for her neck.

After that, he was much, much more erratic.

He sprinted about the house, tearing almost every other room apart as he searched. It felt like several hours had passed by the time he finally found what he—what his beloved—needed: a white, sterile-looking container. He opened it, just to be certain, then tucked it under one arm and hurried back over to the bedroom.

Every square inch of Lisa’s body was blistered to hell and back, adorned by a network of puffy, angry-looking veins that, had her heart still been beating, would have more or less threatened to burst at any given moment. Red and raw, several sections on her arms, legs, and chest having peeled off to reveal glistening tissue.

Her mane of thick, curly auburn hair had been reduced to a few small, fried patches that clung to the charred flesh of her scalp with a strength similar to bubblegum and well-intentioned vibes. There was a possibility that she’d died with her eyes open, but the awful swelling of the skin around their sockets had sealed them shut.

None of that mattered, of course.

Lisa was still just as beautiful as when Callum had first met her. She always, always would be.

. . .Even so, those injuries had to be dealt with. Despite what Lisa had said before about accepting a person’s flaws, Callum’s instincts told him she wouldn’t appreciate being left to resemble a puppet made of half-raw-half-cooked steaks.

Callum set the medical kit down on the nightstand, ferreting out generous rolls of gauze as he loomed over the side of the bed.

The world finally seemed to slow back down as he got to work.

It didn’t take long for him to find a gentle, precise cadence as he wrapped bandage after bandage after bandage around his beloved’s form. Something in the back of his mind wondered if this was what spiders felt like when they spun strands of silk together to make their webs.

Although Lisa’s skin hadn’t been rendered translucent, the burns in some places went deep enough for Callum to catch a glimpse of her organs. Both of her lungs were blackened, seared, sunken. Her heart was equally misshapen, now boasting a similar appearance to a blob of melted wax, looking like it was seconds away from collapsing in on itself.

But even as all the carnage was swallowed up by more strips of gauze, Callum could still see the heart twitch. The movement only lasted for half a second or so, but there was no doubting that it’d happened. . .

Lisa still had a chance. She would never be truly alive again, but she could still come back.

She couldn’t wake up by herself. . .but she wouldn’t have to.

He’d find a way to help, just as she’d done for him.

Callum blinked for the first time all night, and his hands were suddenly free; he was suddenly sitting at the foot of the new bed.

Lisa was cloaked quite literally from head to toe in clean, snow-white bandages. It was like he'd made the perfect combination of shroud and wedding dress for her to wear.

The thought made a small smile tug at his lips.

Then he shook his head.

He couldn’t relax just yet. There were other things to be taken care of right now. Two other things, to be specific.

Callum got to his feet and crossed the new bedroom to quietly close the door. He ventured down a narrow hallway, peering at an assortment of unfamiliar pictures hanging on the walls around him. Disposing of them would probably be another chore for him later.

His footsteps sounded hollow and heavy as he descended the staircase. (Unlike Lisa’s former home, the floors of this house were all hardwood rather than carpet. True, they wouldn’t muffle noise very well, but it was still quite a lucky coincidence.)

He’d found this house completely by accident, when he’d still been trying to follow Lisa’s path.

Even with the remnants of that lightning bolt sparking in his stagnant blood, even with Lisa’s voice echoing through his resurrected mind, it’d still taken so much time for him to truly wake up. He grimaced at the thought of how long he’d had to crawl around the cemetery before he could stand upright.

(And that wasn’t even mentioning the state his vision had been in. The layers of rancid slime and dirt clinging to his face had made everything around him blurry and distorted. The fact that his eyes were also full of maggots at the time certainly hadn’t helped.)

He’d had to wander the surrounding woods for hours and hours before he could finally walk. The rot in his bones had kept his movement slow and uneven, but a bad limp was still better than collapsing every other moment.

Callum wasn’t sure how the house’s previous owners hadn’t seen or heard him that night. They certainly had a few hours ago, but that wasn’t a factor anymore.

He crept into the living room, where he paced a few slow circles around the fresh corpse lying in the center of all the controlled chaos. The crimson splatters now adorning the floor, the walls, the sofa’s floral print almost seemed to glitter.

Another carcass could be found just a few feet away, sprawled across the wide threshold that led into the dining room. The face was obscured, as blood was still leaking out to add to a large puddle that continued to slowly spread, inch-by-inch.

Callum folded his arms across his chest, drumming the nails of his replacement hand against his cheek. He remembered what Lisa had said when he’d silently begged her to help him find new parts; a contemplative murmur about there being bad people in the world. . .

Her relief and gratitude when he’d bludgeoned that horrible excuse for a mother to death.

Her cathartic happiness when he’d dismembered the scum who’d tried to put his filthy hands on her.

Her tearful joy when she eventually realized why he’d risked so much to take a particularly crucial piece from the ignoramus who’d dared to play with her emotions. . .

It had all been so wonderful to see.

Those victims had all hurt Lisa, and they likely would've hurt others as well. Their deaths wouldn’t be an actual loss to the community.

But this. . .

Lisa definitely wouldn’t have approved of this. Yes, she’d understand why Callum had done what he’d done; after everything they’d been through, of course the two of them needed a quiet place to stay, if only for a while until they found somewhere better. A place that was a fair distance from both the town and the cemetery. A place just like this.

But. . .

A raspy sigh escaped Callum’s lips.

He'd work with more tact in the future.

Once Lisa was awake, things would be better. He’d listen to her input. They would make important decisions together.

Callum’s eyes wandered about, eventually settling on the axe—the same one Lisa had taken from her father’s garage—he’d left propped up against the adjacent wall. It was slathered in gore, to the point that its wooden handle was just as red as the paint on its blade.

He approached to pick it up, letting the weapon’s belly rest on his shoulder. Then he stooped down, using his free hand to take hold of the first corpse’s wrists. More of the floor was painted red as he dragged it into the kitchen. He retraced his steps to collect the second body, coming dangerously close to slipping on the blood as he hefted his victim onto the countertop.

The next hour or so was filled with dull thuds, with splintery pops and cra-A-a-cks, with the drip-drip-drip of thick fluid oozing down the lower cabinets and plopping onto the floor.

The axe was too heavy to be the most precise tool, but it was still efficient. It only took a few good swings to sever limbs from torsos and heads from necks.

Callum couldn’t bury either of these bodies. Not right away, at least. Fortunately, he soon discovered that there were more than enough black trash bags under the sink to work with.

Lisa’s body obviously needed repair, but he wasn’t sure which repairs should come first. (He knew she’d require a new pair of eyes, but he didn’t want to risk forcing her current ones open just yet.) Would it be better to take off her old limbs and put new ones in their place, or to simply slice off layers of skin and attach a new barrier to her burnt flesh?

Wait and see, a voice in his head suggested. Callum nodded to himself; when Lisa was able to communicate again, he’d organize these plans with her. It was only right, after all.

Callum set the axe down by the sink, now focusing on wrapping up the detached pieces of human in tight, layered cocoons that crinkled with every second. Packing all the bundles into the freezer and refrigerator in a way that kept them from sliding right back out was far more aggravating than he would’ve cared to admit, but he managed.

He gave pause, however, when it came to the two remaining pieces.

A pair of forearms, to be specific, with their hands still attached.

One from each corpse.

Something small and metallic glinted around the fourth finger on each of them.

The first ring had a very simple design: just a smooth, golden band.

The second ring, meanwhile, was silver, mounted with a shiny stone.

It wasn’t a diamond by any means. Callum couldn’t tell what kind of gem it was, honestly. But it was gorgeous—it’d been carved into a smooth, perfect orb. It reminded him of an ember at the heart of a firepit, boasting a graceful mix of orange and red with a few soft hints of yellow.

The colors reminded him of that one night.

Callum shoved the forearms into hiding with all the other parts, the two rings now nestled in his palm. With that, he exited the kitchen, an unfamiliar spring in his step as he ventured back up the staircase. Yes, he still had an enormous bloody mess to clean up, but this took priority.

His odd, partial heartbeat echoed in his ears as he re-entered the new bedroom and knelt down beside the bed.

Slowly, delicately, Callum took one of Lisa’s hands in his. He pressed a small kiss to her bandaged knuckles before sliding the new ring onto her finger.

It fit perfectly. Just like the gold ring did for him.

As for the odd-yet-sweet candy loop he’d made do with for the original proposal. . .well, he decided to leave it on the nightstand.

Just in case Lisa wanted to keep it when she woke up.

@mblume125 @upstartgeek @paper-cuts-and-fresh-bruises @queenofcandys @magpierose753 @therulerofallpotatos @blue-spider-official @chofisaquino @strangewerewolf @alienbactria @aphroditeinarms @weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral @scootis-the-scoot. @cherryycocaine @sammispook @creepycrow31 @radisyn @allthesecottoncandyskies @that-random-assassin @shelf-life-of-the-party @big-sad-world @lisascreatures @we-were-d3stined-t0-expl0de @artnormal @cr-0-wsworld @bllops-world @night-writer-writer @bunnygirlgracesworld @occasional-trash @a-live-wire @babi-gir @secretly-larry-daley @fawns-things @confused-hufflepuff-screaming

#my writing #my stories #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein spoilers #the creature #lisa frankenstein creature #lisa swallows #lisa x creature #(my headcanon name for creature is callum)#(I just think it would fit him well)#tw implied murder/death #tw implied violence #tw gore/blood #tw mentions of electrocution and fire #tw scars #tw body horror #tw dismemberment

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